


Offal Hunt

by KIBITZER, lionsenpai



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-09-05 02:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: After facing Cinder Fall at Beacon's CCT Tower, Glynda is personally assigned to hunt her down. Embarking into the unknown, tracking Remnant's most notorious criminal, Glynda's only lead is the twisted trail of ash and rot left in Cinder's wake. The further away from Beacon's guiding light the hunt strays, the more the danger escalates—but so do the questions.Cinder Fall knows something. Something about Glynda. And her schemes involve far more than Dust trafficking; something much bigger is at stake, and in following the smoke trail to its end, Glynda may well find herself on a pyre.[Remastered edition of Offal Hunt (2015)]





	1. Painted in flames

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Offal Hunt (2015)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127026) by [KIBITZER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER), [lionsenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai). 



> surprise, bitch, bet you thought you'd s  
> Offal Hunt 2.0 is here!!! Woo!!! We've refurbished every angle of this dangle and it's packed with new content, and we both hope you'll enjoy it—whether you're a returning reader or it's your first time reading Offal Hunt! We're bringing a definitive version! Yeehaw!  
> Our goal right now is to hopefully push updates on a weekly basis, so stay tuned!  
> Without further ado......Let the hunt begin again 8))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want pinned down / I want unsettled  
> Rattle cage after cage / until my blood boils

Sulfur clung to Glynda like a phantom, each inhale burning down her throat as if an inferno raged around her still. Her eyes watered from the lingering smoke and heat. The singe marks on her clothing documented every close call, every plume of flames turned away with but a moment to spare, but more telling still was the way she took the steps to Beacon’s highest tower with care, one at a time, conscious of every move.

The relief efforts were still afoot, the sirens louder still than the pound of blood in her ears. Students were corralled into their rooms in a frenzy, and two dozen firefighters crowded around what remained of the CCT tower. At least half of Ironwood’s forces stalked the forests around Beacon, prepared to kill on sight _._

And still, there was no sign of the witch.

The night assisted her escape no doubt, the sky moonless and black, and Glynda could almost feel her slipping farther and farther from the school grounds—and the clutches of their esteemed general.

As much as every inch of her burned in unfamiliar exhaustion, the taste of a real fight echoed deep in her marrow, her feet yearning for pursuit, her fingers curling into fists at her side. There were few who managed to push her to exhaustion; even fewer still who inspired the hollow hunger of a depleted Aura.

Cinder Fall had done both.

_“—any idea what this could do to us?”_

General Ironwood’s deep timbre gave him away as the door to Ozpin’s office came into sight, and something spiteful curled her lips, leading Glynda on. He sounded as though he knew Cinder Fall would escape them, and that explained the scent of slaughter which hung heavy in the air. His pride would have been carved bloody at such a disastrous blunder, and all after just making such considerable claims about the effectiveness of his forces.

Ozpin’s voice came softer, ever the mediator, ever the pacifier, and even standing at the door, Glynda couldn’t make out the words. Her mouth slanted into a frown, remembering it was also on Ozpin’s watch this had happened. He was responsible as well.

Knocking once, she pushed the door open without waiting for a response. The room was the highest point of the school, the central tower from which one could observe the entirety of the campus and edges of the nearby Emerald Forest. Panes of glass made up the walls, the emergency lights staining the colorless room in red and blue. Nestled in the high ceiling, countless gears groaned as they continued to spin.

As soon as Glynda entered, General Ironwood snapped to attention, recoiling from the desk placed strategically between himself and Ozpin. His neck strained against the tight collar of his white uniform, and at the hems of his ash-covered pants, there were fresh coffee stains.

No matter how quickly he retreated into composure, Glynda didn’t miss the overturned mug, the coffee running across the desk, or the narrow look Ozpin shot her from behind his folded hands.

Above them, the gears clanked and turned, endless; and below, the firefighters’ sirens wailed like banshees.

“Sir,” Glynda said, adding her voice to the chaos as she moved briskly towards the desk. “You requested me.”

Despite himself, Ironwood seemed a touch relieved to see her. She kept her cool, only lingering on him for a second before returning her focus to Ozpin. Glynda didn’t want Ironwood to misinterpret her examination as an invitation to speak.

Ozpin’s eyes were ringed with shadows, his face unusually severe beneath lofty silver bangs. Stiffly, he reached for his mug, turned it right-side up, and began mopping at the spilled coffee with a cloth pulled from one of the desk drawers. Glynda imagined she would have felt more than an ounce of pity for his predicament if she hadn’t been so exhausted herself. Not to mention, having Ironwood in the room was bound to worsen the situation. He had a way of escalating things.

“Yes,” Ozpin said, in that sure, steady way, finishing with the spilled coffee and tucking the rag back into the drawer. “Yes—I don’t think anyone is more qualified than you to speak on what happened tonight—”

“Talk is the last thing we need now.” Ironwood cut in. “The enemy is gaining distance every moment we spend _talking._ We need action.”

“Deliberate action, James. We cannot rush headlong into the unknown.” Ozpin’s patience had been tempered by time, but even so, Glynda could hardly see how he managed it. “Glynda, you were the one to find Cinder Fall within the CCT. What was the situation when you arrived?”

Glynda cleared her throat, remembering. “The silent alarm had been tripped, and I received an alert through my Scroll. I thought it might be a group of students, but when I arrived, she was there instead.”

“Do you know what she was doing?”

“I believe she had accessed one of the computers, but I wasn’t able to see more.” From over the top of a monitor, Glynda had seen but the briefest flash of gold beneath her dark bangs, like a serpent nestled in the undergrowth. Then she’d struck. “We engaged one another promptly.”

At her side, Glynda could see Ironwood fidgeting. Ozpin ignored him. “Did she take anything?”

“No sir. Not that I could see.”

Ironwood tore away from them, pacing around a small circle. He was losing his composure again, and his voice was fraught with agitation. _“_ _Fantastic_ _._ At least _that’s_ established. Now, are we going to _do_ something about this?”

“James, please,” Ozpin tried.

“And what do _you_ propose?” Glynda snapped. “You’ve already sent a battalion out into the streets.”

Ironwood startled for the briefest moment at the accusation in her voice, but recovered quickly enough to muster a response: “We follow her trail. She couldn’t have disappeared without a trace, and I have specialists who could uncover it—”

“And then?”

Ironwood squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, meeting the challenge in Glynda’s gaze. “Even Cinder Fall cannot withstand the full strength of our forces.”

“We mustn’t be too bold,” Ozpin said quietly, denying Glynda the satisfaction of a quick retort. “Even among us, Glynda is the only one who has fought Cinder Fall one on one.”

Glynda straightened, vague pride shining through the mist of exhaustion.

“How did she hold up to expectations?”

“She was… Savage.” Insufficient. Glynda tried again. “Lethal. More so than anyone else I’ve ever fought.”

Merely alluding to the clash filled her with an uneasy prickling. When she blinked, she could see the woman still, wreathed in a corona of hellfire. Cinder was no Huntress, not like Glynda. In her, Glynda sensed only the capacity for annihilation.

A lump which tasted of ash had formed in Glynda’s throat, and she had to swallow past it to say, “If reinforcements had not arrived when they did, I’m not sure which one of us would have been left standing.”

Ozpin tried to look unaffected, even as one of his hands instinctively lifted to touch the brooch on his scarf. A nervous tick, and for good reason. Nothing and no one had been able to keep up with Glynda before this. Confusion crossed Ozpin’s face and then vague fear. Even Ironwood had been moved to silence by Glynda’s words.

For the first time since she’d arrived, no one spoke, each tangled in their own thoughts.

Outside, the remains of the CCT tower gave a last sputter of smoke, one final tongue of fire rising to the sky before relenting to the firefighters. In the flashing lights of the trucks, the tower stood at half its height, crumbling walls like grasping fingers reaching towards the sky. Little remained of the place where Glynda and Cinder Fall had drawn first blood, and all of it was charred and broken.

Ozpin breathed deeply, his expression smoothed into neutrality. Then, to no one in particular, he said, “On the night of the dance, no less.”

Glynda frowned, looking through the window to the dark edge of the forest. With every passing second, a sensation like nails across her neck told her Cinder Fall was already gone, and failure churned her gut, unusual and uncomfortable.

“James is right,” Ozpin announced. “We must address Cinder Fall more directly.”

“Sir—” Glynda began, incredulous, but then hesitated. He didn’t surprise her very often, but when he did, it was usually for good reasons.

In this, she just couldn’t see it.

“Yes!” The moment of shock wore thin too quickly on Ironwood. He jumped back into the fray, ready to push this unexpected advantage. “If we could just get her coordinates, we could send—”

“I think that would be unwise,” Ozpin said, surprising them both again. “If Glynda is correct in her assessment—and she has never given reason for doubt—then what we need here is experience, not numbers. Your forces would be better positioned here, to defend Beacon against further attacks.”

It was Ironwood’s turn to hesitate. Ozpin had lost him, but Glynda had an ugly suspicion she knew where this was heading.

“We can’t lose her trail,” Ironwood insisted.

“I agree.” Ozpin smiled, calm now, confident. “We’ll send the only person who has gone against Cinder and lived to tell the tale.”

Glynda refused to flinch as Ironwood turned on her, looking as mortified as she felt.

“You’re sending _Glynda_ after her?” he asked, jerking back to Ozpin. “As if you don’t need her at Beacon, now more than ever? If anything, her role tonight only proves that she’s needed _here!”_

For once in her life, Glynda had to swallow the fact that she was agreeing with Ironwood. “With all due respect, sir, I believe I’m best needed here as well. Beacon is my—” Her throat tightened, eyes flickering towards Ironwood. “—responsibility.”

Instead of giving an answer right away, Ozpin turned his chair to look out the window. His hand trembled as he clutched his cane and rose shakily to his feet, his old injury threatening to topple him. Still, he stood tall, his shoulders broad, eyes forward. Taking a few steps toward the window, he stopped only when he could reach out to touch the glass.

Slowly and without turning, he asked, “General, how do you feel about throwing dozens of men at a single enemy, and receiving nothing but death?”

“Unacceptable,” Ironwood answered immediately. “But a price to pay if victory is achieved—”

“And if it never is? Cinder Fall will never accede to a battle on your terms. She is not an army to be met in the field. She will strike when it is convenient, and advantageous for her, and when it is not, she will return to the shadows, as she has done tonight.”

When Ironwood remained silent, Ozpin lowered his voice, a touch of sympathy bleeding in. He glanced over his shoulder, silhouetted in red and blue.

“I understand that your forces have tangled with her before, but this cannot be personal, James. You won’t avenge any death by sending more of your people to the slaughter.”

After a long moment, Ironwood deflated somewhat, his shoulders crumbling in. He said, “If she is as mighty as Glynda claims…”

Ozpin turned back to the glass. “I believe she is exactly as mighty as Glynda claims.”

“Then…” Ironwood grappled with his pride, working each syllable from his mouth. “Then perhaps you’re right. If you are going to send Glynda…”

“I hope to speak with her about that now.”

_Without you_ was implicit. Even Glynda caught it.

Ironwood was useless tension. He gave Glynda a complicated look, his mouth opening and closing again. Glynda met his gaze, guarded. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him conflicted, and something about it made her uneasy.

Finally, Ironwood managed, “If you send Glynda, Beacon will have my troops.”

Before Ozpin could even acknowledge the vow, Ironwood turned and was moving towards the door. Once it had clicked closed behind him, Glynda and Ozpin were alone.

The second they were, Glynda’s doubts spilled forward. “Sir, this is a mistake. There has to be someone else we can send. I’m meant to be here!”

“There is no one I trust more than you, Glynda.” Ozpin spun slowly, mindful of his bad leg. He gave a small smile, but it was weary. He slouched back into his chair, softening now that Ironwood had gone. “I have known many Huntsmen and Huntresses during my long life, but none of them hold a candle to you.”

The praise should have banished all doubts. It didn’t. A torrid mix of dread and uncertainty filled her to brim. She belonged here at Beacon. Save short assignments to other parts of the world, this had been her post since becoming a Huntress. To leave it on such short notice to ordinary soldiers made a cold sweat prickle between her shoulder blades.

“Sir, I can’t leave the school,” she said, a touch desperate. “Beacon is my _home_.”

“And it always will be, Glynda, but… I fear there may be something sinister afoot here. Cinder Fall… I can’t help but wonder what is at stake if we don’t stop her,” Ozpin said, and his eyes went far past her, as though looking at a distant game board. “Her attack doesn’t make sense unless there something bigger going on.”

There had been scarce few times when Ozpin’s intuition had proved incorrect, but even so, Glynda couldn’t quell the anxiety within her. Her fingers twitched. Her throat constricted. Everything in her felt tight and hot and shaky. She couldn’t stay calm. She couldn’t relax.

Couldn’t—until she could. Like the ebb of a tide from some bottomless sea, calm overtook her, bit by bit, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of that fear.

In but moments, cold resolve was all that remained. She was in control of herself. She was ready.

Ozpin must have seen it in her expression. “This is your mission, Glynda. Hunt down Cinder Fall. Bring her back—alive, if you can. If she proves too powerful for you, do what is needed.”

It hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but his words still latched onto her pride like bristling burrs, digging in deep to draw blood. Of course she could catch her.

Glynda was a Huntress. She could hunt.

She had lost Cinder’s trail, for now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find it again. She would find it again. The acrid smell of cold smoke and burnt hair tore at her nose even now, and she knew finding the source was only a matter of following the stench. _Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,_ Glynda reasoned, and if she was to leave Beacon, she would _gladly_ be the one to smother this particular flame.

Breathing deep, she closed her eyes. The wear from her clash with Cinder was a constant, dull ache in her. Her Aura was restoring itself in measures, no longer empty, but far from useful.

“When does my mission begin?” she asked, a hollow note in her tone.

“Will you be fit to leave by morning?”

Glynda nodded, not needing to hear the rest. “Yes, sir.”

Even if she had to leave the school to others, even if she must go on her own—with patience and determination, she would track down the witch and put an end to her.

Glynda turned on her heel, but before she could reach the door, Ozpin’s voice bade her stop. Turning to meet his eyes one last time, Glynda found them weary, his smile faint.

“I have faith in you, Glynda” he said, his fingers curling around his brooch. “You’ve never let me down.”

She nodded and then left to prepare.

* * *

The streetlights raced across dark window panes, a lone, black car zipping down abandoned streets, ash still clinging to its exterior.

Within, Cinder Fall shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her head tilted toward the pass of lights outside, the thick column of smoke reaching towards the stars just visible over the distant high-rises. Roman drummed his fingers across the leather interior of the SUV next to her. Their driver, one of his boys, kept his eyes glued to the road, ripping down the highway in a bid to escape the city before the army could catch up with them.

By now, the distant whir of General Ironwood’s air fleet resembled the buzzing of gnats. It would be some time before they cleared the forests around Beacon and moved into the city, and by that time, Cinder would be gone, disappeared like smoke between the General’s clasping hands.

Empty air was better than burnt palms, but as certain as her escape, General Ironwood would not see it that way.

As if he knew it just as well, Roman fidgeted beside her, alternating between playing with the rim of his hat and running his fingers through his hair. He only stopped when his Scroll gave an electric chirp, Mercury’s name flashing on the screen briefly. Then Roman snapped it shut and tossed it between them, his lips pressed flat.

Shooting her a pointed look, he snapped, “You couldn’t have gone for something a little more subtle?” He leaned forward, rapping his fingers on the center console. “Move it, buddy. We’ve got ten minutes before this city’s crawling with every soldier and mech old Jimmy boy can throw at us.”

The driver glanced over his shoulder and nodded, and as the car lurched forward, Roman fell back in his seat, digging through his pockets for a cigar.

“I hope your _need to know_ mission was worth having a bullet with our names on it in every rifle from here to Signal. I don’t do jail, and I definitely don’t do military jail. Just for making me consider that possibility, I’m charging you double— _triple_.”

He pulled a cigar from his case and set it between his lips, but when he went for his lighter, he growled. “Dammit, did Emerald… Cinder, give me a light, will you? I’m going to skin her when we get back—”

Gold eyes needed only pass over the end to set it ablaze, and Roman stopped short, blowing out the flames spitting at the end of his cigar. He cursed, shooting her another glare, but pulled it back to his lips and took a long drag. Acrid smoke filled the SUV, making Cinder tense and prickle, and Roman’s gaze flickered up and down over her battle-worn suit, the statuesque still which carved her of angles and jagged edges.

Steam curled at her lips, her lungs like the soot-filled bellows of a forge, and in the pass of the streetlight, her nails flashed crimson as the blood drying across her clothes.

Exhaling a stream of smoke, Roman waved his cigar towards her, asking, “What’s stuck in your gums? You not get what you want?”

Perfectly even, she replied, “The mission was a complete success—more than that, even.”

“So? What’s the problem? Goodwitch tear you up that bad?”

Nails like claws dragged across the tops of her thighs, making fists in her lap. Just the mention of her sent a thrill down her spine, something vacuous and ravenous settling deep in the pit of her stomach. A smoldering on the edge of hunger, the heat of it making her suit glow softly. Glynda Goodwitch had exceeded all expectations; not simply meeting her in battle, but _pushing her back_ , the tower around them warping with the force of their collision.

Just the memory inspired a full-body tense, muscles prepared to dodge, deflect, destroy. She’d spent herself fighting heartbeat by heartbeat, the battle changing each second, forcing her to her limits just to keep up.

There were few who could make her sweat, even fewer who could make retreat appear attractive. Glynda Goodwitch had done both.

She’d felt the capacity for it in their first meeting, when Glynda Goodwitch had called down a storm of ice upon them. She was power and magic welded into human shape, and Cinder had suspected, had considered—but now she _knew_. There was no doubt, could be no doubt, not after getting so close, after tasting the calamity at her fingertips with her own flesh and blood.

Fire ignited through her veins, the vestiges of her tapped Aura consuming what remained of her wounds in wisps of smoke, and Cinder bared her teeth in a beastly smile, eyes gleaming.

At the razor edges of her teeth, Roman looked away, wincing and taking another drag of his cigar. “ _Freaky_. Whatever. Just make sure you keep me out of it if you want to bark up that particular tree again. All the hazard pay in the world isn’t worth playing games with that witch.”

Cinder inclined her head at the word choice, exhaling softly in what could have been a laugh. “Not to worry. You’re going to Vytal next.”

“Vytal? Hmm… Let me guess: the White Fang again? Funny how you never seem to be around when the mutts are involved.”

Cinder continued, “I have a number of small operations there. Concern yourself with the transports to Atlas, and be ready when I send you a list of things to acquire.”

Scoffing, Roman asked, “Don’t you keep Emerald and Mercury around for shit like this? Or are you gonna ditch them now that you’ve got them nice and enrolled in Beacon? Might actually learn some manners…”

“They’ll joining me soon. They have their own mission.”

Roman laughed, leaning across the seats and giving her a cutting smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you actually _liked_ the brats—”

“Beacon won’t be safe for very long,” she cut him off, all flashfire irritation. He wrinkled his nose, withdrawing. “I’ve just found the last piece I need. From here, we’ll be moving very quickly.”

“Right, right. With _whatever_ you have planned.” Roman leaned back into his seat, pausing briefly to watch the city limits sign come and go. Only open road lay ahead of them, dark and endless, not a soldier in sight. He took another drag and offered, “Won’t miss that dump. It always had too many cops for my tastes.”

Cinder’s expression cooled, and she turned away, gold eyes boring into the darkness on the other side of the glass. Roman smoked, his cigar burning down to a stub as the car cut through the darkness.

Finally, Cinder asked, “Have you considered what I said?”

“About what? …Oh right, that. A safehouse for when your big plan finally kicks off?” Roman grunted, shrugging. “Thought about it.”

“Keep thinking. There will be casualties. I don’t know how extensive.”

He didn’t respond, but Cinder knew he’d heard her.

Silence descended between them again, Roman sinking back into his seat, his head turned away, hand propping up his chin as he finished the last of his cigar. Regardless of whether he heeded her or not, there was no denying it wouldn’t be long now.

The components were all falling into place, piece by piece, bit by bit. A few weeks more, and they’d have everything they needed, and then it would be time for the final, crucial part of all of this. Turning back towards the darkened window, Cinder saw her reflection in the glass, a serpent’s smile curling her lips.

For now, there was still work to be done, but after tonight, Cinder knew the time to acquire the Witch would come—and soon.


	2. The wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So run, run, run, the wolves are coming for you / Be quiet as the wind because he's tracking you  
> So run, run, run, remember what he said / you better tip-toe through the snow or you'll end up dead

It was tough, getting back into the swing of hunting after so long.

Theory swam through Glynda's head, old aches lingering in her sinew and bone, but years at Beacon had dulled her, made her react instead of preempt. It had been years since she hunted, since she sought, since she was more than a bastion, all defense. Fights always came to her. Even Cinder Fall—her hands made fists—but in order to finish that fight, she would first have to remember how to hunt.

Glynda sat perched precariously on a rock in the Emerald Forest, her eyes closed as she tried to focus. Strapped to her lower back was a small bag, out of the way but well within her reach, and hidden from others by her cape. It contained scarce supplies: her weapon, her Scroll, and a breakfast snack. Minor irritation prickled at her; keeping her weapon tucked away in a bag wasn’t her style, but now that she was on the move, she’d exchanged her heels for more suitable thick-soled boots—at the cost of her usual sheath.

In any case, she would need pick up more lasting supplies at some point. For now, she had chosen to prioritize her retraining.

Though parts of the Emerald Forest bordered Beacon, it extended far west, filling the vast space between two bustling cities. Not only did it cover the space she had to traverse, it also suited her needs for a different reason: it was full of prey.

All around her, the rustling leaves and screeching birds created a constant chaos of sound, one she struggled to parse. Back when she was on active duty, she could glean meaning from the snap of a twig, the sudden flight of birds. She could tell a Nevermore from a hunting hawk by the beat of its wings, even at a distance. Now, embarrassing as it was to admit, she was out of practice.

Glynda drew long, deep breaths of the fresh air, giving her senses all the time they needed to adjust. As usual when she was outside the safety of Beacon, a vague discomfort lingered at the abstract limits of her senses, keeping her on guard.

There were Grimm in the woods. She knew that. She also knew they didn’t scare her.

The Creatures of Grimm had been a constant in her life, an inky black nip at her heels in every step she took. Though their ragged fur, oily feathers, bony plates, and sharp spikes repulsed most, Glynda felt indifferent. They were just like animals, rabid and snapping, in need of someone to put them down. No reason to feel anything, one way or another. Exterminating them was her job, and she was damn good at it.

Any Grimm that crossed her path made a fatal error. She was not afraid, not disgusted, not invested—but ruthless, always ruthless.

She was starting to remember how to pick the different bird species of the forest apart by their pitch alone when far away, a twig snapped under the foot of an animal. Glynda considered it for a moment, but the rustling that followed wasn’t big enough for concern. At least her instincts were coming back quickly.

Glynda was disproportionately startled when the bright chime of her Scroll cut through her meditation. Leaning back on her heels for balance, she gave a deeply disapproving frown—the same kind capable of sending even seniors scurrying out of sight—and drew her Scroll from her pack. She clicked her tongue at the sight of Ozpin’s name, but opened the message without hesitation.

_“Good morning.”_

That was all he had sent her. Glynda didn’t know whether to sigh or smile.

“Good morning,” she wrote back, wasting no time in tapping out her reply. “I knew you’d be in touch, but I haven’t even left the city borders yet.”

His response was almost immediate. _“Doctor Oobleck spoke with me. He sounded stressed. Was it necessary for you call on him to substitute all your classes?”_

“He’s sure to stay on top of the students. I don’t want them slacking in my absence.”

_“I was thinking we might just give the children free hours.”_

Glynda snorted. “They won’t make very good defenders of peace without combat experience.”

_“They’re our future, but they’re children too.”_

She might have expected his response. They’d had this conversation often enough after all. Before, it was something of a joke between them. Now it only served to remind her that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

Crushing down a roil of longing and unease, she typed out a final response. It was time to return to her own work: “Do with my curriculum what you will.”

Her Scroll closed with a snap, and she tucked it away, returning to the task at hand. Ozpin would be satisfied with that for the time being, but it was no secret that some of her students considered her to be severe at best and cruel at worst.

But she wasn’t cruel _._ Merciless. Yes, she was merciless, and why shouldn’t she be?

It wasn’t that she felt no sympathy for her students—she simply knew what the world would expect from them later on. As fully qualified Huntsmen and Huntresses, they would be at humanity’s beck and call, and something as simple as _being tired_ wouldn’t stop an emergency from happening.

That was always her first lesson to a new class: in a real situation, injuries or exhaustion should never prevent them from serving humanity—or surviving. First-timers to her class always looked bored and weary as they shuffled into her late afternoon classes, expecting her to go easy on them.

Well. Within the first fifteen minutes of Glynda’s class, they learned better.

The upside to having her exhausting hands-on combat classes at the very end of the day was that the students could immediately head back to their dorms and beds afterwards. She sort of envied them that, while she was stuck in her office setting grades until the late hours of the night.

_Merciless_. She supposed she owed them no less.

Glynda shook her head, trying to get her thoughts back on the right track. She had left her classes in the hands of the others now, for better or for worse. 

The sounds of the woods came back into focus, and she immediately noticed something different about it. She heard fewer birds. They were not all gone yet, but many of the voices had fled or quieted, the forest itself holding its breath. She heard a much larger rustle than before: the sound of a big animal moving.

Glynda slipped off her rock and onto the soft forest floor without a sound.

She drilled herself like she drilled her students. _What do you see?_ Nothing, yet. _What do you hear?_ A Grimm. _What do you feel?_ A Grimm. _Are you fit for combat?_ She smiled. _Yes ma’am_ was the appropriate response, but there were always a few who tried to get away with saying no.

Her class had never been about the actual art of tracking prey, but it dealt a lot with using all of one’s senses to control the flow of battle. Now she was in her element.

Glynda slunk away from her rock, smoothly crossing the clearing, and pressed herself against one of the trees instead. A minute difference in volume told her she was closer. Hearing the snap of another twig, much larger and closer than the false alarm from earlier, she drew her crop out of her bag and disappeared into the dense brush.

Some would probably call her reckless. Her own students would probably look at their notes and frown. Glynda didn’t care. She broke away from her shelter and charged head-on into the unknown. She would not be hunted by some foul-smelling fungus. Weaving between the trees, she felt old knowledge resurfacing in her muscles, her pulse climbing steadily with excitement. The Grimm was a buzzing on the edge of her senses, and a sudden prickling across her skin turned her in the right direction at just the right moment.

She saw it.

It was an Ursa, an average-sized specimen. It looked around with empty eyes, searching, sniffing, opening its mouth to taste the air, and she knew the beast sensed her. She would come right up on its flank on her current course, just out of position for a direct deadly strike.

It saw her. Glynda didn’t stop, running at the animal as it turned to face her, rearing back onto its thick back legs to tower above her. At the last second, she skidded into a sharp turn, crossing in front of the Ursa. A simple gesture drew the sharpest debris from the forest floor and launched it into the Grimm’s eyes. It jerked back, giving a roar of pain—if it even had the capacity to feel pain.

The Grimm lashed out blindly, but she was faster. She usually was.

Glynda flicked her weapon with trained ease, hearing the brittle sound of bone snapping as she used her Semblance to force the Ursa’s paw off its course. Not wasting time, Glynda leapt at the Grimm, the force of her own Semblance beneath her feet propelling her up. As she jumped, several of the Grimm’s long spines lifted with her, tearing themselves right out of the beast’s back. The spines trembled in mid-air, then rotated around so that the points faced downward, all in the time it took for gravity to take hold of her again.

She landed on the Grimm, fingers gripping one long spine and driving it back down, her Semblance forcing the other five down as well. The Ursa roared again, a broken sound like splintering wood. The dark substance wounded Grimm gave off instead of blood oozed out in thick globs as the bear thrashed, impaled on its own spines. Glynda pushed them in until her knuckles pressed into the greasy, knotted fur, easy as pushing a sewing needle through cloth.

She would have to wash her hands after all of this was done.

Pinned down, the creature stopped struggling. It stopped _being_ at all. She got off its back before it dissipated, watching from a few strides away. Before her eyes, the Grimm began to fade away, turning into crisp black smoke.

The stench hit her nostrils. Taking out the Grimm had not cost her anything but a few seconds of her time. The dissolving corpse smelled like rot, mildew, like dark corners of damp rooms. It smelled like smoke beneath it all, a faint sourness biting at her nose like the final protest of a dying campfire.

The scent lingered after a kill, sticking to the flesh; truly, the cleanup was always the worst part about a hunt.

Wiping her hands on her skirt—she would need something new, of that she’d already decided—she looked up from the last traces of the Grimm, somewhat satisfied by the return of the birdsongs. Glynda tucked away her weapon. She was as rusty as she had feared. Nothing to do about that but train.

Her Scroll’s chime cut through the forest noise. Ozpin again. Figures. He was, after all, the only one who had this number. He was telling her that all first and second years had been given free time in place of her class. Sighing to herself, she texted him back quickly and looked around.

This far away from civilization, she didn’t need her hunter’s senses to know there would be more Grimm about. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she set off, the sun creeping into the sky above her. There wouldn’t be time to clear out the entire forest if she still wanted to pick up Cinder Fall’s trail—perhaps after she’d caught the witch, she could return if she ever needed to let loose.

After all, it wouldn’t take much. Certainly not enough to truly challenge her.

* * *

Even within the safety of human settlements, the night brought out terrors.

They stalked the streets, more beast than human, their eyes and hands full of malice, begging for the chance to hurt.

Beneath a single, hanging streetlight, two shadows loomed just outside a tailor’s shop, their eyes dark and pitted. They resembled lounging cats, hands loose and open at their sides, idle movements with a dagger and slip of silicon betraying their boredom. Even when rabble from the nearby bar wandered by, the two barely looked at them, all too aware they were the most dangerous creatures on the prowl.

The night was their friend, the filthy, unpatrolled streets like a home to them, but even so, when Cinder turned onto the street, one of them straightened, prickling to attention.

Emerald’s dagger disappeared in a flash of steel, stowed away on her belt, and she turned to her companion, giving him a nudge with her foot without taking her eyes off Cinder’s approaching figure. From where she was, Cinder couldn’t hear what was said, but she could read lips well enough to understand: “Merc, get up. Cinder’s here.”

Sitting with his back to the door, Mercury’s head jerked up, and he rose as if untouched by gravity, all fluidity and unnatural grace.

Emerald met Cinder halfway, leaving the warm haze of the streetlight and becoming sharper without its glow. Keen-eyed and toothy, she fell into step beside Cinder, the exuberance ill-fitting for someone with such a crooked smile.

“We’ve got your chip, Cinder,” Emerald said. “Mercury’s been holding onto it.”

Their heels clicked in perfect unison despite Emerald’s longer legs, and Cinder hummed beneath her breath. “You didn’t have any trouble leaving Beacon?”

“They were so busy chasing you they didn’t bother to notice two newbies going missing,” Mercury said, shrugging. He danced the silicon over his knuckles, eyes flickering up from its path to look at Cinder. “They might notice in a week or two. Doubt you’ll be able to sneak us in there again.”

The old bulb buzzed above them, its glow warm on Cinder’s skin. A twist of her wrist revealed an ancient key of polished brass, and without missing a beat, she turned towards the door to the tailor’s shop and unlocked it with a click. Emerald and Mercury didn’t need to be told to follow when she stepped inside the darkened shop, filling the shadows like nightmares.

And then the lights inside flickered on, and it was just the three of them in a dusty, cramped shop.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cinder said, squinting against the light as Mercury shut the door behind them. Sheaths of fabric and a long counter with a rusted cutting board at its end greeted her, same as the last time she’d been here. “The next time I return to Beacon, stealth isn’t on the agenda. Mercury, you have something for me?”

Cinder rounded the counter, finding the old spinning stool on the other side. Age filled the air, and the chair creaked and groaned as she lowered onto it, but Cinder only had eyes for Mercury.

Tall and lanky, he was more apathy than substance, his shoulders rolling constantly, eyes sweeping over abandoned sewing machines and a rack of half-finished projects with something like distaste. He’d never liked the little shops she kept around Vale. He’d never liked quaint.

Still, for Cinder, he offered her the prize without games, presenting the silicon chip with an open palm. “Got your backdoor all set up, and the files you downloaded are all on this. You wanna access the transit system world-wide, just plug this into any Scroll. Provided they don’t wise up.”

“They won’t.” Cinder said it without hesitation, plucking the prize from his hand and retrieving her Scroll. “You’re very thorough.”

Despite appearances, Mercury didn’t shrug off her words, floundering with them before managing to cant his head away, his lips pulling at the edges in a restrained smile. Emerald jostled him with an elbow, but before he could respond with a withering scowl, she turned back on Cinder, leaning forward on the counter to get a better look at her Scroll. “Did you get everything you needed?”

Cinder nodded, not glancing up. Her Scroll chimed when she inserted the chip, whirring with the strain of processing the data.

“Might take a while,” Mercury said, propping himself up on his elbows next to Emerald. He was quick on his feet, always, and he’d already recovered his veneer of disinterest. “Sit back, grab a snack. Maybe shower or something. You could use it.”

Emerald’s expression narrowed, her fingers drumming atop the countertop. “Maybe shut up, Mercury.”

One side of Cinder’s mouth quirked. “I ran into some Grimm on the way here.”

“Our airship is still in the port if you need it,” Emerald offered. “It would be easier than moving by ground.”

“Airships don’t leave much room for mistakes. The ground is surer. And anyway, Grimm are no trouble to me.” She smiled faintly, setting her Scroll down on the counter between them. It buzzed and clicked, chugging through Mercury’s codes to give her what she wanted, but for the time being, she had more in mind for the two of them. “Besides, you’ll need the airship. I’m sending you both south.”

Mercury’s mouth slanted. “Another mission?”

Making a face, Emerald asked, “Roman isn’t going to be there, is he?”

Tapping her nail on the dusty wood, Cinder leaned forward, eyes trained solely on Emerald. “No, not this time. He’s going to be busy with conducting business for me in Vytal. Do you have his lighter?”

Quick as a snake, Emerald presented the silver zippo as if from thin air. Those nimble fingers had earned her a reputation through the slums of Vacuo’s fringe cities before Cinder picked her up, observing something like kinship in those slitted eyes. The patches of scales at her joints had been just barely visible then, but Cinder had known well what would have happened had she been left to grow into her fangs. All abandoned Faunus inevitably fell into the hands of the White Fang, and Emerald would have been no different, consigned to life with the threat of her own expendability hanging over her head. But with Cinder, she’d shot up like a weed, flourishing in the sun and keeping her covenant not from fear, but loyalty.

And now she stood before Cinder, snapping open the lighter and cradling its flame like something precious.

Mercury’s grey eyes pulled toward the tiny spark, his pursed lips impossible to read. Back when she’d first found him, he’d been less than the slip of a boy, gaunt from hunger and one too many lessons in cruelty, craving more than just his next meal and a roof to house him. In him, she’d seen the same starving eyes as she’d seen reflected back at her as a child. She’d given him a chance, an opportunity, and he kept to her back, a blade pointed toward her enemies.

Cinder sighed, her skin adorned in the gentle, golden glow of a stoked flame. Leaning forward, she curled her fingers around the zippo, the heat mingling with that radiating from her flesh, and flicked it closed.

“Hold onto the lighter,” she said finally, withdrawing across the counter. Few people saw her bare of cruelty, but with Emerald and Mercury, she had to concentrate to staunch the soft glow of affection.

The spell shattered, and Mercury looked away, boredom cooling his expression once again. Emerald smiled faintly, dancing the lighter back into her pocket, but she stood ready.

“There are coordinates on your Scrolls,” Cinder began. “A location to the south, an island off the coast of the continent. I need the two of you to find it and secure it.”

Emerald smirked. “Who are we taking it from?”

“No one. It’s mine.” Cinder’s polished tone betrayed nothing, and the two of them arched a brow in perfect unison. “There are things there, assets I want protected. I can’t trust them to anyone else.”

Mercury went for his Scroll, but Emerald asked, “Guard duty? For what?”

Cinder folded her hands in her lap, her response perfectly even. “The island is a safehouse. I want it to stay that way until it’s time to use it.”

Mercury didn’t look up from his Scroll, tapping away. “Safe isn’t usually our deal.”

“It is this time,” Cinder said.

“How long?” Emerald asked.

“Uncertain, as of now. However long I deem it necessary before we can regroup.”

A beat passed, but instead of acceptance, Cinder observed identical flashes of cold calculation in their eyes. After years are sticking close to her side, never separate for more than a week, she had expected apprehension.

She hadn’t expected Mercury’s flashfire tone.

“You’re sticking us in the middle of nowhere.”

Mercury finally looked up from his Scroll, accusations bared like teeth. “This place doesn’t even officially exist on the map.”

Cinder didn’t flinch. “None of my private facilities exist, Mercury. That’s the point.”

Emerald was different, wavering towards uncertain. “So we’re just… Waiting there?”

“For now, yes. It won’t be long, if things go well.” Mercury scoffed, skeptical, but Cinder continued, “But you’ll be safe there—”

“From what?” Mercury demanded. “If we’re with you, there’s nothing that could take the three of us.”

“I’ve told you before, things will get messy—”

“When your plan is finished? The one you won’t tell us about?” Mercury’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Cinder was reminded of the suspicious way he’d looked at her when he was younger. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Sounds more to me like you’re dumping us—”

“ _Mercury_ ,” Emerald hissed, fixing him with a vicious, threatening look, one that gave substance to all her fears. “Shut up. She’s not dumping us—”

“I know a lame duck mission when I hear one, and so do you, Emerald. Things are wrapping up, and now she wants us out of the picture. Or am I wrong?”

Fidgeting, Emerald glanced between the two of them, Cinder’s placid expression and Mercury’s white-knuckled grip on his Scroll. Something dire settled in her, gnawing at the edges until she resembled a child more than a viper. They were both children, abandonment held close at the end of a wick, ready to combust at any moment and burn away the life they’d built from the gutters.

Before Cinder could answer Mercury’s rising temper or Emerald’s creeping doubts, her Scroll chirped, the screen lighting up and projecting into the tense space between the three of them.

Documents with whole sections blackened in redaction popped up before them, hundreds of them racing into the projection field faster than the eye could follow. They appeared with the sound of a turning page, like flipping through a thousand ancient tomes all at once, and at the top of each page, in thick, bold print, read the words:

**_HILL OF ROSES MASSACRE._ **

The whirlwind of sound came so a sudden halt with the final page, the lines smeared and crooked. It was a blueprint from the time before Scrolls, hastily copied into systems to be preserved, if never to see the light of day again.

Mercury blanched, Emerald steeled, and Cinder stared.

Emerald found her voice first. “What is _that?”_

Cinder hadn’t expected it to look like that. It was all spikes and iron clamps, primitive Aura suppressants on each manacle detailed with scrawled notes. Curved spines like ribs formed a cage—a precaution—written and underlined off to the side, an addendum beneath it which promised that electrical currents could be applied through the ribs—“in case of resistance”.

“Hill of Roses? What—”

“It was a long time ago.” Cinder didn’t waste time letting Mercury finish. She rose from her seat, searing the image of the device into her mind and snatching the Scroll from the counter. The projection flickered off, and she stowed the Scroll away for later. “Before the war.”

“And that _thing?”_

“The penultimate step.” Glancing between them, she pursed her lips. “Put it out of your mind. You have another mission. To the south.”

Emerald’s jaw hung open, her hands clenched into fists, and even Mercury grit his teeth, slapping his palm on the countertop. Frustration bubbled up in his throat as a growl, and she insisted, “You can’t expect us to—”

“I expect you to _trust me_ ,” Cinder snapped, turning from them, cutting the conversation short with a look devoid of warmth. “I expect you both to go into the back, pick out a bed, and depart from here first thing in the morning. When you arrive, you have free reign of the property, provided you don’t stray.”

Jaws taut from all the words trapped just behind their teeth, they watched as Cinder rounded the counter. They might have been taller than her, but they still stood ramrod straight when she stopped before them, looking down into her flashing eyes.

“You’re right.” On edge, it came out harsher than intended, the image of the machine just behind her eyes. “I want you out of the way. I want you as far south as possible because when things begin, I don’t know how much control I’ll have. I want you where I know you’ll be safe, and if you find that hard to swallow, consider it an order.”

Mercury swallowed. Emerald’s hands twitched at her sides. In all their years together, Cinder had never ordered them to do anything, their cooperation freely given.

Now she shed the care with which she’d raised them, adopting a darker expression, the one reserved for deals with the likes of the White Fang. There was no give to her. No light. It had to be that way. It made it easier.

“Don’t leave the island. Don’t draw attention. You are the only people I can’t lose once this begins.” It was the first time she’d said as much aloud, but neither of them responded, frozen in place. “Don’t disappoint me, Emerald, Mercury.”

As her lips curled around their names, gold passed over each of them in turn. Neither of them moved to stop her as she marched between them, headed for the stairs tucked away in the corner of the shop. Upstairs, she would be alone in the single room reserved for her visits.

She hesitated on the first step, glancing back over her shoulder.

Neither Emerald nor Mercury had moved from that spot. Trailing her hand on the old wallpaper, Cinder drew a deep breath. “I’ll be in touch soon. When I can.”

And then she disappeared up the stairs.


	3. Come undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diving into destruction / come undone with me

Clouds painted the sky a rolling grey, darker blots on the horizon promising a storm to come.

The air hung heavy with it, the scents of the city wet and dense, but even so, Glynda knew Cinder had already moved on. She’d followed the smoke trail all the way from Beacon to this waypoint on the edge of Forever Fall Forest. She’d confirmed sightings of a woman matching Cinder’s description creeping through the darkest parts of the city, but still, Glynda planned to stay only long enough to purchase supplies.

Civilization was no home for someone like Cinder, after all.

The storm was going to be a problem, though. If she wanted to keep the trail before the rain washed it away, she needed to move fast. So Glynda abandoned the seedier parts of town and found a strip of stores.

Her outfit was the first to go, spattered with dark offal and ripped from her forays through the Emerald Forest. The clerk grimaced at the sight of her, fresh from the kill with purpose in her eyes, but she still helped Glynda find something more suitable for the coming days.

Beacon had been a soft deployment where her biggest threats were food fights taken too far. For a mission like this, Glynda swapped out her tattered skirt for a pair of dark trousers and traded the thin blouse of her station for something more durable, if not similar. Her trademark cape would stay, as well as the sturdy boots and convenient pouch at the small of her back. At her request, the clerk outfitted her with a sheath for her crop, and she strapped it around her thigh for easy access.

After that, it was only a matter of finding a few supplies.

As she moved through the aisles of a Hunters’ supply station, people gave her a wider berth than before. There may not have been a uniform for on-duty Huntresses since the pre-wartime era, but that didn’t mean civilians couldn’t recognize the determined, focused look of someone on the hunt.

Glynda fielded texts from Ozpin as she picked up the essentials—a knife, a flint, a waterproof poncho, and a canteen with iodine tablets for purification—telling him where she planned to go from here.

“Forever Fall Forest,” she typed out, paying for the gear with her Scroll and tucking it snugly into the satchel at the small of her back. “I’m going to be busy for a while.”

All he said was: _“_ _Be safe, Glynda.”_

Perhaps he sensed the anticipation crawling over her skin, the sensation of lightning right before it struck. Perhaps he knew how she ached to leave the city behind, feel the sodden, rotten leaves beneath her feet, and _hunt._

It had flourished in her since she’d put the groves of the Emerald Forest behind her. Her senses sharpened to a fine point, hearing, sight, taste, touch—even smell. She stood tall, indomitable, but every fiber of her yearned to hunch, to hunt. Predators kept to the places with prey, and there was nothing for her in cities or towns.

But looking out past the towering buildings, Glynda observed the crimson tops of Forever Fall, and her pulse leapt, humming through her as she rolled up the sleeves on her shirt to just above the elbow. Every step brought her closer, and the closer she got, the more she was sure she was on the right track.

Giving a final glance up at the sky, Glynda let her fingers trace the supple wood of her crop. The clouds above her gave a low rumble, and as if in response, she gave a little smile.

The rain could not hide Cinder Fall from her.

* * *

Forever Fall Forest creaked and whistled with the coming storm, the branches swaying and scattering red leaves across the forest floor. Stalking among the maples, Glynda kept her eyes trained on the ground. The tracks hadn’t taken long to find; there were few people who left the safety of the city for a forest right before a storm, and even fewer of them wore heels.

Glynda had to focus to keep her footing, the curl of unearthed roots reaching to trip her. The tracks she found never stumbled, leading her deep into the forest as though by old, memory-laden paths.

It occurred to her that all of this was rather strange, that Remnant’s most notorious criminal would set out this way—on foot and alone.

She had to have airships, cars, perhaps even access to one of the many train lines which cut through the forest. What was the gain in travelling the Grimm-infested lands between civilization by foot?

Glancing at the sky, which had yet to truly open, Glynda paused by one of the thick-trunked maples, running her hand over the rough bark. A gentle drizzle had started, and it pattered against the canopy above, sending animals into their hovels for shelter.

But it hadn’t soaked the trees through yet, which meant they were nothing but kindling, the forest a powder keg ready to ignite.

_Alone,_ Glynda thought, stilling and looking around.

Glynda didn’t doubt herself. She could read the forest as well as anyone, better even. Cinder was alone.

It seemed almost too good to be true, and that gave Glynda pause.

It was possible this was an ambush. She’d been careful in her tailing, taking her time in the Emerald Forest to hone her skills and allow her prey to grow complacent. This was the closest she’d gotten to her since their explosive fight at Beacon, but even so...

_Let her build a pyre_ , Glynda thought stubbornly, setting off once more regardless of the danger. _She wouldn’t be the first to try to burn me._

Ozpin’s words played through her head again, every bit the challenge he didn’t intend. Ambush or no, she’d still match Cinder Fall.

Every gust of wind made crimson dance at the edge of her vision. She could feel Cinder’s proximity like a hot prickle across the nape of her neck, the chase roaring through her veins. Soon it would be time to take her by the throat, find the one-two pound of her pulse, and tear until her life spilled down that lithe body.

Above her, the sky crackled with thunder, a far off flash heralding heavier rain drops. Glynda barely noticed. She was attuned to the shifting woods, the way they moved around her, the way they concealed her target. A faint tingle travelled down her arms to the tips of her fingers.

The stench of burning hit her nose at the same time the tracks changed, the distinctive, sharp end of a high heel abandoned. Cinder was going barefoot, and the edges of the leaves caught beneath her tread blackened, singed and smoldering.

Glynda paused only a moment before she felt herself smile.

So she knew.

That made things easier. Tugging at her cloak, Glynda broke into a sprint, doggedly following the trail as it cut between trees and wound through the forest. It crossed over a set of railroad tracks and down through a shallow ravine until finally, finally Glynda saw her, the woods opening around her in a clearing.

Glynda had expected a serpent, wound in on itself, prepared to strike. Glynda expected hellfire, licking at the damp grass, the ash drying out her eyes. She expected prey, cornered and alone and utterly desperate.

At the center of a clearing, Cinder Fall sat waiting for her, one leg thrown over the other, poised atop a rock like a lounging cat, her nails drumming across the stone. She didn’t flinch as Glynda burst from the brush, but she did straighten somewhat, leaning forward with abrupt interest. Inky black hair clung to her thin neck, but the rain didn’t touch her skin, steam rising in the air around her.

Thunder rolled above them, the steady pelt of rain filling the silence, and Cinder’s eyes gleamed gold with delight.

“You’re no lamb,” Cinder said, raising her voice just enough so Glynda could hear every word, her flesh prickling at the sound, muscles tense and ready.

Cinder was the opposite, languid and slow-moving, sliding over the edge of her perch to land lightly on the ground, barefoot still. Glancing sideways, Glynda found Cinder’s shoes by her own feet, a final invitation to whatever unwitting fool she must have thought had been tailing her.

“I didn’t realize Ironwood had wolves under his thumb as well.” She smiled. “I hadn’t planned to see you again so soon, Glynda.”

No one had told Cinder she was the one being hunted, and for a split second, Glynda was soft and battle-shy, facing down her first Grimm.

Glynda swallowed. And then she laughed.

Her first Grimm had died thrashing, the kill messy, the final blow spilling blood across her and her teammates. She’d learned, watching the Grimm dissolve with unsettling fascination, that fear was something foreign to her, a parasite feeding on childish nightmares of creatures that could gobble her up in a single bite. She cut it away, precise as a surgeon, and found the truth she should have known all along: that monsters ought fear _her._

Cinder Fall had yet to learn that lesson, but Glynda was a teacher, merciless in her efficiency, and she would instruct her—thoroughly—until every broken bone and bruised inch of her ached with the knowledge.

Though she stood unmoving, her hands empty, the enemy exuded confidence. Glynda raised her weapon like a conductor preparing her orchestra, and Cinder’s gaze followed, attentive. But still she didn’t react. Not a tremble ran through her limbs, yet she was overflowing with single-minded intent, like a bowstring pulled taut and ready to fire.

Without preamble, Glynda gave a wide sweep of her crop, raising the very forest around her. Fallen branches and rocks all shuddered into the air and then turned their jagged angles on Cinder.

There was no blaze of fire, no explosive counter. In the blink of an eye, Cinder moved, smooth and silent—as if her body was liquid instead of flesh. She dodged with a grace that seemed inhuman and untouchable, darting towards Glynda and batting aside her assault with small flashes of Aura in her palms.

The memory of white-hot plumes of flames was physical, and Glynda set her jaw, intent to avoid whatever counterattack broiled in the sparks cascading from Cinder’s hands.

Flames belched, hissing and popping beneath the rain’s insistence, and Glynda narrowly dodged them, the heat on her face a warning. She drew back, wanting to put distance between them again, and Cinder let her.

Sounding. They were testing the depth of one another, reacquainting themselves with the danger. This was nothing but a greeting.

Glynda found her stance once more, resetting. Their next clash would be bloodier.

The wind whipping at her hair, Cinder said: “Any other time, I would be happy to entertain you, but you’re interrupting something important.”

Something important? Out here? Glynda’s thoughts drifted back to what she’d considered earlier. A meeting here, in the middle of a storm in Forever Fall Forest, could only be a meeting between beasts, and Cinder fit the bill. Tilting her head, Cinder’s teeth flashed white as lightning sundered the clouds above them.

When Glynda didn’t respond, Cinder continued, “Has the General taken your tongue as well as your dignity?”

_Goading_ , Glynda thought, deadly calm even as the tempest kicked up leaves in the gulf between them. _What’s her game?_

Cinder didn’t allow her to wonder. She rushed in, avoiding Glynda’s answering telekinetic blow, and struck, her hands wreathed in flame and menace.

At Beacon, they’d traded blows at a distance, capitalizing on the raw power they each possessed; but now, not even Glynda’s whip-snap volley of debris could deter Cinder.

Her eyes burned with the power of her Aura, nails cutting as her grin while she forced Glynda back.

Glynda caught a searing blow with her arm, a flash of purple Aura shielding her from a broken bone, but Cinder wouldn’t let her stop, wouldn’t let her think, smoke filling her nose and mouth and lungs.

Moving human beings with her Semblance wasn’t an easy feat, but planting her feet, Glynda managed to push Cinder back, her bare feet skidding through the mud as she struggled to stay upright. But even this reprieve was short-lived, Cinder’s body shifting like mercury as she hurtled back at Glynda.

Laughter ripped from Cinder’s throat. “Anything else?!”

Before she could reach her, the rock Cinder had been perched on tore away from the earth and crashed towards her. Ugly surprise flashed across Cinder’s face, and her hands exploded with Aura and flame. It should have shattered the rock, giving Glynda a million edged shards to skewer her between, but instead, Cinder’s attack withered against it. Teeth snapping together, she barely twisted away, the boulder crashing into the ground, tearing up the earth, and finally crashing through the edge of the grove.

Glynda took the splintered wood as her weapon instead, squinting through the pelting rain. Jagged pieces of timber gathered into the shape of a spear, and Cinder, just righting herself, cursed and leapt aside, fireballs collecting at her fingertips.

Cinder launched one after another, shattering the face-end of the spear over and over again, untouchable, and Glynda, realizing the futility of it all, flung all the pieces at once.

Without her power behind them, they merely battered Cinder’s Aura shield, and again, Cinder came after her, closing in quickly.

Glynda’s brow pinched, eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. Neither the fight on the bullhead nor the struggle which razed the CCT tower had been close-ranged, so why was Cinder so insistent on it now?

The steam pouring off Cinder’s flesh flared hot against Glynda’s face as she tried—yet again—to pull back and gain range. Gold bubbled like molten ichor in Cinder’s gaze, her breath short as she snapped, “Hunting me down just to run away? This isn’t worth my time!”

Fire wreathed another clawed strike, and the clash of Aura against Aura sang in her bones, making Glynda grit her teeth and dig her heels in. An assault like that would break both of them faster than normal, and Glynda knew it.

It was sloppy. It was reckless. It was desperate.

Crop shoved into its sheath, Glynda caught the next blow on her arm, felt the sting of flame on bare skin even through her Aura. Her rebuttal was a kick to Cinder’s shin, dragging her thick-soled heel down to her ankle. Pain bunched Cinder’s expression, every inch of her tensing up.

Her off hand flared with certain retribution, her bleeding leg drawing back. Finally close enough to pit flesh and bone against one another, Cinder smiled a grimace of a smile—right before Glynda’s elbow soared through the empty air where her face used to be. With a shift of momentum, Cinder sprung back up, her bloody calve finding Glynda’s ribs in a ruthless kick.

All of the air rushed out of her lungs in one painful wheeze, but before Cinder could withdraw, Glynda caught her leg, slick with blood and rain— _rain?_

Glynda’s hesitation was punished with the slam of an elbow, her collarbone certain to bruise with the force of it. Cinder slid free, water between her fingers.

_Water_ —not fire.

At once, a smile broke out across Glynda’s face, and upon seeing it, Cinder’s expression darkened, the rain running down her face all the confirmation Glynda needed. Looking up at the clouds above them, Glynda nearly laughed. Rain—no wonder she was seeing less and less of Cinder’s usual flair, no columns of hellfire or explosions that rattled her bones.

She could probably barely keep the flames alive even when they bloomed from her skin. Glynda would be lying if she said she wasn’t gloating.

Not that it rendered her helpless—Cinder may have been muzzled by the rain, but she still had claws, and Glynda wasn’t about to forget that.

Proving it, Cinder shot across the carpet of soggy, red leaves, her movements impossibly swift even without her augmented flames. Glynda knocked away her first strike, and before she could lash out with another, Glynda’s other hand shot up and closed on her hair, pulling her in for a vicious headbutt.

She never got that far.

Fist tangled in raven-black hair, Glynda stopped only inches from Cinder’s face, alarm bells going off in her head at the faint tug of her earring. The slinking, satisfied grin on Cinder’s face grew as her entire body relaxed in Glynda’s unkind hold.

All save for the fingers wrapped around Glynda’s earring.

“That’s interesting,” Cinder said, as Glynda’s hand clamped around Cinder’s wrist. A warning, maybe, or an attempt to hold her in place to assure no harm. Even Glynda wasn’t sure, but Cinder’s voice was smooth as silk. “You’re still wearing these.”

Glynda said nothing, feeling another small tug on her ear as Cinder inspected the jade piece, turning it this way and that.

“You teach combat, don’t you, Glynda?” Close, intimate. The glint of gold in Cinder’s eyes was wicked, brimming with something like a challenge. “I assume you teach all of your students not to wear loose, long hair or dangling jewelry, don’t you?”

Cinder’s intent was clear as day, but she was forgetting one important distinction: the students might care, but Glynda didn’t.

Glynda yanked hard on Cinder’s hair. The surprise that raced across that smug expression was nothing compared to the look of pain that followed when a thick-soled boot slammed into Cinder’s midsection. The kick sent Cinder rolling, a glint of jade jewelry following her, specks of blood hanging in the air. Cinder, scuffed up and startled, stared up at Glynda from the forest floor, struggling to push herself up. Glynda’s boot cut off her attempt, falling heavy upon her chest, holding her in place.

“Yes,” Glynda said, speaking for the first time since they’d begun. “That’s right, Cinder. It’s one of my first lessons.”

A thick, warm trail of blood ran down Glynda’s cheek and neck. Her earring was still clutched in Cinder’s hand, the still-attached backing coated in blood. Pain flared now, shooting through her ear in a steady throb. It would have been distracting, if Glynda was the type of Huntress who was distracted by pain. She stared down, the rain cascading down over both of them, and in a rush of triumph _,_ smiled.

“I also teach them to never drop their guard for witty banter,” Glynda said, and Cinder’s surprise melted into a crooked smirk, knowing she was caught red-handed. For once, Cinder was the one who didn’t say anything. Glynda could clearly see the fire in Cinder’s eyes, the excitement that suddenly flared, untouched by the dampening effects of the rain.

She knew the look, knew the bone-deep fascination, the urge to break and disassemble until nothing remained but the basest components. Cinder wanted the puzzles in her blood, the secrets in the cavity of her ribcage, bone-thin and gaunt from her hunger.

She would have to starve, Glynda decided, hunched over her like an animal, her fingers finding the slender handle of her crop at her thigh. She would have to starve as Glynda starved, the bodies she wanted to dissect dissolving into black smoke no matter how she carved them up.

Pulling her crop from its sheath at the same time Cinder lashed out, Glynda turned away the thin string of flames before they blinded her, but she couldn’t stop the brutal blow to her ankle—or the crunch which followed. Staggering backwards, Glynda realized too late that Cinder had intended just that, rolling away and leaping to her feet once more.

“I hadn’t dared hope you’d be such a monster,” Cinder said.

“Funny, I knew you were all talk.”

“You're breaking all your own rules for me. I'm flattered.”

The flicker of gold eyes over her ankle was a warning, Glynda’s body braced for impact, but the whistle that tore through the air as effectively as thunder froze them both. Glynda looked up, a pillar of smoke appearing over the tops of the trees behind Cinder.

Cinder followed her gaze, grinning wickedly when she looked back, understanding something Glynda had missed.

She didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate. Cinder turned tail and ran, stooping to snag the pair of heels left neatly by the edge of the woods as she went. A switch flipped as Glynda realized the hunt had changed. Now it was a pursuit, her weakened prey taking flight through the dense foliage.

Glynda was no more than a breath behind her, rain pelting her in the face, refusing to let Cinder escape—again.

Quick as a snake and sure as a panther, Cinder leapt over roots and deftly avoided the low hanging branches which tore at Glynda. She knew the woods intimately, knew them like Glynda knew the chase. Where Glynda stumbled and fought for proper footing—especially on her mending ankle—Cinder seemed to meld into the woods, her red dress the same shade as the maple leaves.

Glynda lost sight of her, but not the scent of her, haunting her every step even as Cinder stole precious seconds in her escape. Finally she broke through the last of the trees, a clearing laid out before her.

The sound from before suddenly made sense, and Glynda cursed herself for not realizing it before. A train charged by, sucking the air around it like a whirlwind, the Schnee logo blazing by in flashes of white.

Cinder didn’t slow, running for the train, and Glynda dogged her across the clearing, crop clutched tight in her hand. The caboose rushed up to meet them, the train giving another whistle, and Cinder jumped, catching the guard rail around the back, her dress and hair whipping as the train sped by.

Glynda skidded to a halt and lashed her crop towards the train, resolving to claw Cinder back down with her Semblance.

The train itself shuddered, then the track beneath it, and Cinder craned her head. As the train cleared the shaking track pieces, metal screamed and tore away from the bolts that kept it down. The track broke, curled back on itself, shredding the earth around it.

Cinder Fall, hanging on, her shoes still clutched in her off hand, shuddered with the car, but kept her footing and managed to stay on. At the same moment Glynda stepped forward in the beginnings of pursuit, Cinder grinned, fanged teeth flashing as brightly as her glowing eyes.

She couldn’t catch her now. Not on foot. Not with her ankle slowing her down.

Glynda watched as the train carried her prey away, until the distance and rain obscured her from sight, her jaw clenching, the hum of failure quaking through her bones— _again_.

She had gotten away, slipped between Glynda’s fingers like smoke. The prickling in her skin faded to a quiet buzzing, but Glynda knew it would only be a matter of time. Lifting her hand to the mending notch in her ear, Glynda ran her fingers over it, remembering when the earring had been torn away.

A sense of confidence filled her, and Glynda found herself taking slow, steady steps forward. Cinder couldn’t beat her, and Cinder couldn’t escape her.

Even if Glynda had to follow her trail across the entire continent, it was only a matter of time before she found her again.


	4. Ashes in my wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But my peace has always depended / on all the ashes in my wake

Bathed in the golden glow of the train’s boiler, Cinder stretched, luxuriating. Rumbling down the tracks, the boiler car shifted side to side every so often, but so close to the belching, Dust-born flames of its heart, Cinder found she didn’t mind in the least.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, strength rekindled in the sweltering heat, her Aura hummed with new life. The aches in her body dissipated in thrums of magic across her skin, the ancient, blood-wrought markings flaring beneath her dress. Though it had hardly been a full turn of the clock, she felt completely reinvigorated, as though the explosive collision with the Witch had never happened at all.

All save, of course, for her pride.

No matter how the bloated body of the boiler crackled red-hot like the molten core of a volcano, her pride remembered the damage done.

Fleeing. _Again._

Tilting her head up to expose more of her neck to the nearby flames, Cinder rolled the jade earring between her fingertips, examining it in the light.

Glynda Goodwitch was a force of nature. That Cinder had escaped her at all, that she’d been able to trade blows on uneven footing, should have filled her with unrivaled accomplishment. It would have taken something inhuman to keep up with Glynda Goodwitch, and Cinder knew that, but—

She was close enough, wasn’t she? Hellfire scorched her marrow and the world warped around the power she held. She had to be enough.

Cinder dropped her head and rolled over, exposing her back to the boiler instead. Against the far end of the car, a sparking automaton creaked and whirred, its gears refusing to turn. It was one of the numerous mechs on the train to protect the Schnee Dust being transported. Like the others she’d come across on her way to the boiler, it had taken issue with her appearance—and like the others, it had ended up blackened, metal melting as easily as wax.

_That_ was how it should have been. Calamity should have followed in her wake, not defeat. More than a phoenix, she was made of death and destruction, embodying it. Her lungs lined with soot, her veins pumping magma—a dragon suited her better, its tall, sloping horns and black scales all she was missing.

She should have been capable of more. To Cinder, who bore the legacy of the Witch-hunter in her blood, failure here was unacceptable.

Hidden in the shadow cast across the floor by her body, her Scroll chimed with new messages. Roman’s name flashed on the screen when she opened it, but more importantly, the system Mercury had set up through the CCT network pinged with a new notification. Forgoing Roman for now, she focused on the other message, opening it with a flick of her thumb.

Glynda Goodwitch’s name appeared in black font, a number just below it. Just as Mercury had promised, Cinder had full access to the information zipping through the CCT, and her lips curled into a thin smile as she read the message that had just been sent.

_“She got away. I’m following her.”_

The intended recipient—Ozpin, according to the message’s receipt—couldn’t have found as much promise in the simple words as she did, but then, Cinder was eager for a rematch. Cinder knew: with Mercury’s program allowing her to keep tabs on things and the sheer level of tenacity with which Glynda pursued her, it was only a matter of when, not if.

Observing the screen a bit longer, Cinder watched as another message raced back, popping up on her device at the same time as it must have reached Glynda’s.

_“Are you okay?”_

Cinder almost rolled her eyes. The centuries must not have imparted much sense, or Ozpin was concerned to a fault. As if something like injury could slow down a monster like Glynda.

Uninterested in Ozpin’s needless fretting, Cinder switched to the text from Roman. It read: _“I thought you sent me here to oversee Dust shipments. What’s with the shopping list?”_

Cinder did roll her eyes this time. Dialing, her Scroll rang briefly before she heard him pick up.

“Y’ello?”

“Roman.” Cinder stretched, popping her joints. “I thought you understood what you were doing in Vytal.”

From the other end of the line, she heard the tap of Roman’s cane. “Make sure your White Fang associates don’t get their grubby little paws on your Dust, is what I understood.”

“Then you missed the part where I said I still need a few things. That list of materials is your top priority there. My usual business can wait.”

“Uh-huh. Steel sheets, copper wiring, Dust vats…” Roman sounded like he had the list she’d sent in front of him. “You building something I should know about, darling?”

Cinder frowned and said nothing.

“Right, right. No questions!” Roman adopted a stern tenor, which Cinder assumed was supposed to be her. “I guess I’ll just sit here, waiting for instructions like a good little lackey.”

“When you have all of the items on the list, send them to the coordinates I forwarded.”

Roman made a sound of distaste. “Let me guess: Atlas? I assume you’ve got a plan to get past their border patrols.”

“Mercury took care of it.” Along with the blueprints for the Hill of Roses machine and access to personal devices plugged into the system, their assault on Beacon’s CCT tower had netted them an invaluable asset. “The codes I’ve sent you will immediately identify any vessel passing into Atlas airspace as an unrestricted merchant.”

“Huh. Kid’s useful.” There was a quick tapping, like Roman was drumming his fingers in thought. Finally, he exhaled and said, “Yeah, alright, I’ll see what I can do. Shouldn’t be too hard to get ahold of this stuff. Especially the Dust, considering you’ve got heaps of it just lying around here.”

“Use whatever you need. Like I said, this has precedence.”

“Great. Anything else?”

Cinder rose slowly, running her thumb idly across the jade piece. “One more thing. I’ve been blown somewhat off track. Talk to our White Fang contacts and figure out a place for me to spend to the night.”

“What?” Roman scoffed. “Can’t fork over enough for a hotel?”

“Funds aren’t the issue. There aren’t any hotels where I’m going.”

Considering that Schnee trains ran on tracks far from the bigger cities, Cinder had no doubt that the White Fang would serve her better here. The Fang had a particular interest in the sort of towns that no one would miss should they disappear from the map, and that seemed more likely this deep into Vacuo.

“Pity,” he commented. “I’ll see what I can do. Send me your coordinates and… Hey, does this mean you’re actually going to _talk_ to one of them? Ha! Oh, I’d _pay_ to see that.”

A wrinkle formed in Cinder’s brow, her lips pinching. “I’m sending you my coordinates, Roman.”

“Of course!” he agreed, practically chipper. Cinder could imagine the look on his face, bright and goading. “Whatever you need. Just let me know how things go—”

Cinder hung up.

Let Roman imagine every sort of meeting. Cinder had other things to focus on.

Staring down at the jade piece between her fingers, she again considered the Witch. Regardless of the circumstances, she would need to bring her to heel somehow—and soon. If she couldn’t…

Cinder’s mouth twisted into a scowl, and she looked away, refusing to even consider the possibility.

The mech she’d destroyed sparked again, and a thought occurred to her, cold even in the heat of the boiler room.

The shadow cast by her standing figure extended across the car, long as a nightmare, and when she started to move, it stretched to consume the mech whole.

What must have been twenty years ago, she’d gotten her start in the Dust trade ransacking Schnee trains and filling her pockets with gains from the spoils. It had taught her a valuable lesson about opportunity, and, more than that, given her the chance to build the foundation for the small empire she commanded now.

Barefoot, Cinder stopped right above the mech, golden gaze scalpel sharp, cutting through the layers of armor and circuitry to the prize she knew resided within. Cinder’s hand flared white hot, and she drove it down into the deformed body of the mech. Metal rent like paper, and she found the small cavity at the center of the machine.

A moment of exploration, then her fingers found something solid and cold, the heat in her palm stolen by its touch. A faint tingle of numbness spread towards her wrist, and she straightened, drawing the thing out as she went.

Used for restraining would-be thieves until the transport arrived at the next station, Aura suppressants were standard issue for mechs on Schnee trains. These were sleek and lightweight, the manacles connected by a short, white cable of braided fibers.

Cinder held them in one hand, the jade piece in the other, and the calculating part of her mind whispered that having these opened possibilities. Even if she wasn’t able to beat Glynda head-on, she could surprise her with these, snap them on in the middle of a fight and watch as Glynda’s Aura extinguished.

No matter her strength, without Aura, the Witch was all but helpless. Easy pickings.

Tingles ran across Cinder’s skin where she touched the suppressants, and her mouth curled with revulsion. She needed the Witch, but she simmered at the thought of needing these.

She was strong enough. She had to be.

The train jostled beneath her as she stood, something small and desperate in her warring with logic. Before she could decide, her Scroll chimed, and she forced her glare away from the suppressants.

Tucking them under her arm, she checked her message. The coordinates from Roman, as expected, and—

Cinder frowned, her expression cooling in measures. There was a message from Emerald as well, her contact photo staring back at her. It was a picture of her from a year ago, bundled up against the cold in Atlas, poised in front of a defaced Army recruitment banner, beaming.

Her text read: _“If you need us, we’ll turn around. Just let us know.”_

Cinder sighed, her stomach lurching with guilt. Unbidden, Mercury’s words rushed back to her as well: against the three of them, what threat could anyone pose?

Glynda’s dead eyes flickered through her memory. There was no hesitation in those eyes. No mercy. She would have torn through Emerald and Mercury before they realized the depth of the difference between them. And Glynda wouldn’t even be the worst of it.

It was better to hide them away.

If they could have understood, if Cinder had even had the words to make them understand… Instead, all she had for them were platitudes and the hope that time wouldn’t prove her a liar. She was going to come back for them. Always.

She typed: “I’ll be fine, Emerald. Just let me know when you’ve arrived.”

Though she waited for the response, it never came. Cinder inhaled deeply and then tucked her Scroll and the jade piece both into the small pocket under the long trail of her dress.

Now wasn’t the time to be distracted. She had to hone herself into the same single-minded focus Glynda wielded if she wanted to match her in battle.

And she did, desperately. The desire thrummed in her veins, hungry and demanding.

For now, Cinder turned, picking up her shoes as she prepared to leave. A glance at Roman’s text told her where she needed to be, and, more importantly, that she needed to get off this train now if she didn’t want a tediously long walk.

The suppressants she kept tucked to her side, but they felt like an old itch, a scab half-healed.

Exiting the boiler room, she found herself in the space between cars, the wind whipping at her hair and clothes, her mind teaming with the things she needed.

There was the shipment of the goods to Atlas, and more importantly, Cinder still had to pass along the blueprints for the Hill of Roses machine, something she had hoped to do in Forever Fall Forest.

Connecting the dots between half-formed plans, she considered her options.

Forever Fall had been where she’d expected to see her contact, but perhaps he’d been wary of the presence of the Witch. As per usual, it was up to him to find her, but facilitating a meeting wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. And the wastes, with their endless sand dunes and inhospitable climate, would hold a better chance, considering their shared past there.

Hati had always enjoyed the heat, after all.

With that in mind, Cinder pooled Aura into her legs and jumped.

* * *

Open plains stretched out beyond the limits of Forever Fall Forest. Crimson and auburn gave way to the shift of knee-high grass, yellowed from the constant sunlight upon it. Easy terrain. The kind that made travel swift and effortless.

The minute Glynda’s ankle had finished healing, she set off after the train with which Cinder had made her escape. It was simple, at least in the beginning.

All she had to do was follow the tracks.

Like a prowling wolf, Glynda stalked the tracks, visions of their fight flashing through her mind with tactile effect. A kick which cracked ribs. Her hand drifted over the healing bones. An elbow which bruised flesh. Purple faded to an unhealthy, sallow tone beneath her fingers. Flashing eyes which invited hazard. A chill shot up Glynda’s spine, nestling in at the base of her neck and digging in like nails.

Grimm evoked less visceral responses. It was how Glynda knew she was going the right way.

Still, the distance was dangerous. If Cinder rode the train all the way to its next stop, she would be several days ahead of Glynda, maybe more. And considering Glynda had all but destroyed the tracks trying to prevent Cinder’s escape…

Cogs chugged in her head, dogged pace halting for just a moment to stare back toward the horizon. Visibility was low, the storm persisting, but in her mind’s eye, she could see the portion of train track left curling in on itself.

In her haste to return to the chase, she hadn’t even considered the consequences of leaving it the way it was.

That would surely result in a nasty accident. People might die, even though there were usually only skeleton crews on the mostly automated trains. Still, just as clearly as she could see the explosion caused by copious amounts of Dust combusting at the same time, Glynda could see Ozpin’s disapproving face at learning she hadn’t stopped it.

More math clicked away between her ears. Turning back would only put more space between her and Cinder. The threat of losing her weighed heavy in Glynda’s soul, like the pull of two magnets being separated.

Ramrod-straight, she lifted her hand to her ear almost without thinking. Scar tissue had formed over the place where Cinder had ripped her earring away, but the hasty healing had left her with a notch in the lobe of her ear. A testament to their fight. A reminder that Glynda had bested her in their first full brawl.

Running her thumb over the notch, Glynda felt the warmth of reassurance spread through her cold body and wet clothes.

Glynda could catch her. Glynda could beat her.

Hunting instincts swallowed the comfort and worry both, and she was able to redirect her thoughts. Even if she was sure, it wouldn’t be wise to give Cinder any extra chances.

Blinking through the light drizzle, Glynda stayed still for another long moment.

Ozpin.

Glynda’s hand moved to the pouch at the small of her back where she kept her Scroll, and at the same time, she resumed her swift pace. Even if she couldn’t spare the time to go back and fix the tracks herself, she was sure Ozpin would be able to arrange for someone to do it before the next train passed through.

Feet certain of their path, Glynda typed out a short message to him: “She got away. I’m following her.”

She didn’t even have the chance to put her Scroll away before he responded. Had Glynda not been so focused on her speed, she might have smiled.

_“Are you alright?”_

“Fine. I need a favor.”

In the brief pause that came after her message, she wondered if he would regret sending her on this mission. Collateral damage, after all, tended to trail in her wake, and this would surely only be the first of many favors she would need. As much as her acute focus allowed her to devote all of herself to a single task, it wasn’t a good trait for a Huntress to have—especially if it was people getting in her way, not just train tracks.

_“What can I do to help, Glynda?”_

Patient and helpful as always. This time a flare of affection did penetrate her single-minded intent.

Since her hazy teenage years where she attended Beacon not as a defender but as a student, he’d always done whatever he could to help. His headmaster’s office was the clearest thing she could remember from the blur of those years, his smile as ageless as it was now.

Though the years had brought about many changes, Ozpin still remained her closest—and truly, only—friend.

“We fought in Forever Fall Forest. I broke the railroad tracks. Can someone fix them?”

_“Of one of the Dust lines? Yes, I’ll get someone on that immediately, Glynda. Should I assume that when you say Cinder escaped, you’re implying you beat her?”_

“Yes. But she got away.”

Failure. For now.

_“You aren’t the first to pursue her, Glynda. Only the first to force her to retreat.”_

Glynda’s hand rose to her ear again. “Right. Thank you, Oz.”

_“Let me know if you need anything else, Glynda. In the meantime, stay safe and keep me updated. I’ve just had an idea, so I’m going to be working on something to help you in your search.”_

“What do you mean?”

_“Perhaps the last person assigned to Cinder Fall will have some insights for you.”_

Glynda appreciated the thought. She hadn’t even considered reaching out to someone other than Ozpin, but then, she usually didn’t have to. The years right after her graduation were peppered with missions to dispatch Grimm, and she always went alone. No one else could keep up.

At least—no one until Cinder Fall.

Something flared at the peripheral of her senses, and Glynda glanced up from her Scroll without pausing in her stride. The constant drizzle turned the horizon grey, but in the distance, she thought she saw movement.

Ah. This old song and dance.

“I have to go now.”

By the time she stowed away her Scroll and drew her crop from the sheath on her thigh, the Grimm were beginning to take shape.

Rising like leviathans from the sea of grass, they loped forward to meet Glynda, her pace undisturbed by their appearance. Three Beowolves—a pathetic pack, to be sure. Nothing to fear, not when Glynda had faced much greater odds and come away victorious.

Not when Glynda had faced down Cinder Fall and had yet to lose.

But still, she thought, lifting her crop and preparing for a swift execution. They would whet her appetite, keep her razor sharp until her next encounter with Cinder.

A ghost of a smile crept onto her thin lips as the Grimm snarled, their yellow eyes empty and hungry.

Ripping them apart was simple as breathing, and as their corpses dissolved into wisps of black smoke, Glynda moved on, not even a second lost on such beasts.


	5. Worst interests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware:  
> You know that these people aren't friends / and they only have your worst interests at heart

It was only a matter of spotting the towers in the distance to find the brick and mortar walls of the town she was looking for.

With the sky bleeding orange and red from the sunset, Cinder marched on, her back straight, expression stony. Though she’d had time to slip back into her shoes and soothe away the immediate pain of Emerald’s silence, the journey here had left her no less raw, a persistent frown curling her lips.

How long had it been since she’d dealt with the White Fang personally? Their current accord had been forged through the application of Cinder’s resources, yes, but it had been Roman who had handled the negotiations in her stead.

The White Fang always needed Dust, but for the first time, Cinder found herself in need of the White Fang. No one clinging to the underbelly of society had more ships or manpower, but Cinder’s skin still crawled when she thought about _needing_ them.

Fingers twitching at her sides, Cinder set her jaw, refusing to look anything but certain.

If her last stop had been an outpost far from civilization, this one was speck, the cadaver of a proper city left to rot. The walls were ancient, relics of before, when the place had bustled with enough activity to merit defense. Now they crumbled from the top down, the smooth bricks cracking and breaking beneath the elements, no one coming to repair the damage. The neglect pulled down ramparts, whole sections missing.

Dilapidated or no, the walls did their duty, offering enough protection from roaming Grimm to allow people to cling to life. The inhabitants here could carve out a home among the shacks and broken down shops even with the occasional attacks from flying Grimm.

But as Cinder approached the gates of the town, she noted there were no Grimm to be seen no matter which direction she looked, the plains open and empty around her. With a final glance back in the general direction of Forever Fall, she pursed her lips, wondering.

“Ms. Fall,” murmured the tall, jackal-eared Faunus waiting for her at the entrance. He wore a long trailing vest which bared his arms and did nothing to conceal the bulge of weapons at his belt. He gave a quick, stilted bow. “Your notice was rather brief.”

Cinder’s voice was flat. “You have accommodations prepared?”

The Faunus maintained his placid expression, his reaction betraying nothing of whether he noticed Cinder’s tone. She did, however, notice his gaze lingering on the suppressants she still clutched in one hand—but he only said, “Of course. This way.”

Introducing himself as Maikoa, he gestured for Cinder to enter, following soon after with a sharp signal to the other Faunus working the gate mechanism. Cinder tried to force herself to relax, but the most she could muster was a slight uncoiling of the tension in her shoulders. As the doors ground shut behind the two of them, Maikoa caught up with Cinder’s quick pace, taking up position on her left.

“I was warned you would have need of particular services,” Maikoa said as they walked. “I will ensure your needs are met, as agreed.”

Cinder let her eyes trail across the shuttered windows and termite-eaten house-fronts which lined the streets. Everywhere she looked, the squalor of the buildings was only matched by the fear in the downcast gazes of each person they passed.

Her lips pinched together, watching a Faunus with broken antlers lower his head to avoid Maikoa’s gaze, others with similar signs of abuse doing the same. It was a familiar move, one she recognized intimately.

“Are you the overseer of this town then?” Cinder asked, brusquely ignoring Maikoa’s promise.

“I am, Ms. Fall. Appointed here six years ago to bring the White Fang’s protection to these Faunus.”

Pride oozed from him.

In territories the White Fang owned—and the White Fang owned many—there were those elevated amongst the rest. While most Faunus toiled under the White Fang for its version of protection, some held rank—and of those that did, all of them abused it.

Corruption and cruelty ran deep in the leadership of the White Fang. In this little blip on the edge of civilization, Maikoa must have ruled like a king even while the rest of the inhabitants just barely eked out a living.

“Then I’ll need a number of things from you,” Cinder said. “Provisions, first and foremost. I’m heading north in a couple days.”

Glynda would need the time to catch up.

“Into the wastes?” Maikoa frowned. “On foot?”

Cinder nodded curtly.

“I would advise against it, Ms. Fall. If your intention is to reach the capital of Vacuo, an airship would suit you better. That desert is unforgiving.”

True enough, few settlements dotted the landscape of the wastes, and those that did were almost completely isolated from the outside world. Not even the Schnee railroads would cut a path through the boiling sands, not when every inch of them repelled humans—and bred Grimm.

Stories of ancient Grimm roaming the deathly lands were more potent deterrents than even the blazing sun and endless, empty flatland. In the absence of humans, the Grimm flourished, growing old beyond living memory and large as mammoths, their tusks and spines massive and yellowing from a life unchallenged by Hunters.

She’d seen them before, as a child, the hot sand sweltering at the edge of uncomfortable beneath her bare feet. They had been great blots of ink on the wavering horizon, walking in lines or circling the skies like condors, their heads always up, scouting and searching, relentlessly picking away at what remained of life in such a wretched place.

Now that she’d missed her rendezvous in Forever Fall, the wastes held the most promise to find Hati.

“The wastes are unforgiving to those who don’t know them,” Cinder returned, not looking at Maikoa for even a moment, her eyes trailing over the town. “I’ve travelled them before.”

Maikoa shot a dangerous look in the direction of a Faunus crossing the street twenty meters ahead, and they scurried across and disappeared from sight immediately. “You are the first I’ve heard to do so successfully then. Usually, those sent into the wastes die of thirst before the Grimm can even reach them.”

Toneless: “Sent into the wastes?”

Maikoa gave a crooked smile. “The White Fang keeps its members well in line. I’m sure you understand, Ms. Fall. Disobedience cannot be tolerated. One or two dissenters shown what cruelty the outside world has for our kind gives those remaining a greater appreciation for the White Fang’s mercy.”

Golden eyes scanned the streets, the Faunus all turning their heads away as her gaze fell over them. Most were older than Maikoa. Others were children, their horns and fangs still growing in.

How different their lives must have been before the White Fang placed this town beneath its banner. Governance might have even been fair, considering this appeared to be a town made entirely of Faunus with no humans to levy laws against their employment or residence.

Now they had the White Fang to govern them, whether they wanted it or not.

“Are there many dissenters here?” Cinder asked mildly.

“There are enough.” Maikoa bared his teeth. “They don’t understand what the White Fang does for them.”

A twitch of a smile pulled at Cinder’s lips, warmth spreading from her chest to the tips of her fingers.

She could see now that they were drawing closer to a central location in the town, a larger house completely untouched by the decay which haunted the rest of the town. Pristine steps rose to a porch lined with pots of Angel’s Trumpets, and Cinder’s smile thinned. It almost looked cozy.

“Is that yours there, then?”

Maikoa nodded. “It is, Ms. Fall.”

“I assume you keep it locked.”

“Thieves persist here, despite my efforts to dissuade them.”

Poverty flourished here, but Maikoa’s home was the single building untouched by it—surely due to heavy local taxes and acquisitions.

Cinder recalled the Faunus with the broken antlers, the way Maikoa had seemed so pleased to inform her how the White Fang dealt with disobedience. As she took the first of the steps to the porch, she stopped and turned around. From here, she stood only an inch taller than Maikoa, who hadn’t yet followed her up onto the step.

He cocked his head to one side, ear flicking in confusion at the sudden halt. “Ms. Fall?”

“The key.”

“The…key?”

Cinder barely looked at him, surveying the surrounding houses. There were handfuls of residents loitering some ways off, watching from a safe distance.

Cinder turned her gaze down on Maikoa. She extended her hand. “Give me the key.”

Maikoa’s ears pinned back against his head with suspicion. An obvious resistance bloomed on his face, lips curling back ever so slightly.

“Is there…A reason you need it, Ms. Fall?”

“Do you often question your superiors?” Cinder asked.

The word _superior_ seemed to dig, just as Cinder had hoped. She suspected only her status kept Maikoa from spewing the refusal trapped just behind his teeth.

But even without the slow shake of his head, Cinder already knew the answer to her own question. There were too few scars to be seen on Maikoa to indicate he had ever refused an order from the White Fang.

“I wouldn’t recommend starting now.” A small smile. “The key.”

The moment dragged on, quiet as the seconds before a viper’s strike, when the prey was caught unmoving in its stare.

“Of course.” Pulling back his long, trailing vest, he revealed the key hanging at his belt loop. In a flash of movement, it was in Cinder’s palm. _“Ms. Fall.”_

Cinder blinked down at the key, not missing the way her title was tacked on as an afterthought. That same heat from before pooled in her cavernous ribcage. Violence collected at her twitching fingers, old scars across her body flaring with phantom pain.

That old itch again, like every wound rubbed raw.

Different from the inability to beat Glynda, but identical in the way both made her skin crawl. Tingles raced along her palm where she held the suppressants.

It took only a second for the thoughts to connect: she would be rid of them both.

Without breaking eye contact, Cinder all but tossed the suppressants at Maikoa. “I need these sent to another operation. It needs to be done quickly and quietly.”

Maikoa caught the cuffs—barely—but his face contorted with startled indignation. Good. The people of this irrelevant cluster of life might have existed completely beneath the thumb of this Faunus, but as a business partner with the upper echelons of the Fang, Cinder was not.

And she relished in it.

“Of course.” Maikoa’s claws curled around the suppressants. “It will be done. Quickly and quietly. I’ll send the fastest Faunus—”

“No.” Cinder cut him off. “You’ll go.”

“What?”

Towering over him, Cinder smiled from her perch. “It occurs to me that I need a careful hand to ensure this task’s completion. I believe you are best suited to that. You will leave tonight and hand-deliver those to my associate in Vytal, and from there you’ll oversee the shipment of my goods north.”

“The White Fang has stationed me here. I oversee this town, not your business transactions.”

“Is that so?” A sedate blink followed, Cinder’s smile unaffected by Maikoa’s biting tone. “Tell me, Maikoa, do you think Sienna Khan would care if I killed you right now?”

A moment passed before her words struck home, a jolt of tension running through Maikoa’s body like lightning. He didn’t retreat, but it wasn’t because he didn’t realize the peril in his situation. Surviving in the White Fang for so long must have left him with a keen nose for threats—and whether or not they ought to be taken seriously. Maikoa looked Cinder up and down, slowly lifting his hand to rest on the hilt of whatever weapon was concealed at his waist.

“An attack upon a member of the White Fang is an attack upon the White Fang itself.” Malevolence lay in those slitted eyes, Maikoa’s voice dropping lower. “Lay a hand on me, and the White Fang would burn you and your business to ash.”

Cinder could have laughed. Rather than begin groveling for her forgiveness as he should have, it seemed he wanted to test the depth of her. Bluff, or gall?

Unperturbed, Cinder responded: “Oh, the Fang would demand retribution. I would be charged if I wanted to continue our partnership, which I might.” Cinder rolled the key in her hand, toying with it idly. “But Sienna Khan understands business, and she understands… How did you put it earlier? That disobedience cannot be tolerated?”

His own words used against him seemed to inspire a new uncertainty in Maikoa, his stern façade cracking.

“If I wanted to, for example, send you far away because I detest the sight of you, do you think she would care how long you’ve been stationed here, sucking resources from this place like a parasite? If I killed you because you refused to obey, do you think she would remember all the work you’ve done? All the _loyalty_ you’ve inspired here? Do you think she would even know who you are? I don’t. In fact, I think the only thing she would consider is how much to _bill me_ for disrupting her operations.”

A bead of sweat formed at Maikoa’s temple, but he remained rooted in place.

Around them, the Faunus that had been sheltering close to doorways and alleys had begun to take notice of what was happening. They stood watching openly, their ears all pricked and swiveled towards the scene.

Cinder only clicked her tongue, shrugging. “But if you truly think otherwise, I would be more than happy to test it. One way or another, you’ll be gone by nightfall.”

Maikoa worked his jaw, and Cinder could see the machinations forming and reforming in his eyes. There was no influence or higher position to draw upon here. Cinder had made arrangements with the White Fang’s leader herself, and Sienna Khan wasn’t known for a bleeding heart.

Thus, it was no surprise when Maikoa finally broke.

Stiffly, he said, “No. That won’t be necessary.”

“That won’t be necessary…?”

Teeth snapping around every syllable, he ground out, “That won’t be necessary, _Ms. Fall.”_

“Wonderful,” Cinder responded. “So, I will send the coordinates of my facility in Vytal through your leadership. You will receive them. I encourage you to demand someone else goes in your place. I assure you it won’t matter.”

On the edges of her peripherals, Cinder saw the people stepping closer, their attention rapturous. It occurred to her that they probably viewed her as a savior, someone to break the shackles of their enslavement to the White Fang. Someone altruistic. Someone not motivated entirely by spite.

They didn’t know her.

The White Fang would send another overseer—they always did—and by that time, the white-hot resentment licking at the inside of her ribcage would have exhausted, her own plans taking her far away. There would be another overseer, the inhabitants would resume their harried lives, and Cinder wouldn’t spare this town a second thought.

Besides, a nagging part of her insisted, this town would probably not survive the coming days.

Turning on her heel, Cinder approached the front door, slipping the key into the lock and turning it. There was no sound to indicate Maikoa had moved at all.

As she stepped through the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “I’m going to draw a bath, Maikoa. If you’re still here once I’m done, I hope you understand what will happen.”

And then she shut the door behind her.

* * *

The path led north, towards the thinning grasses and the promise of Vacuo’s famous desert heartland. Glynda departed the railroad tracks on the fifth day, passing the old, crumbling walls of a town some ways from them. She didn’t stop, continuing on with scarcely a moment’s respite, her body drawn by the increasing tug of Cinder’s location.

As always, her gut guided her, a hunter’s tool honed to incredible precision by decades of use. Even with her stationing at Beacon, it only took a little work remember how to use it. And she found, though she’d only hunted Grimm in the past, the trail Cinder left was similar enough, black smoke hanging in the air like a veil.

On the seventh day, they clashed, Cinder appearing on the horizon as an unmoving figure, her hands cradling open flames by the time Glynda arrived.

Delight carved a smile of too-sharp teeth on Cinder’s face. Glynda only raised her crop.

Without the rain, the stone around them was scorched black, Glynda funneling all of her Aura into rebuking the inferno—but Cinder still couldn’t quite beat her.

Glynda watched it form in increments: Cinder’s expression changing in gentle measures until the thrill twisted into bloody ire, her frustration spelled out in every heavy blow, every explosion of flames.

The Dust sewn into her dress pulsed with heat, and their collision was explosive, brutal—but despite the fury which transformed her into a beast, Cinder had to retreat once more, pulling Glynda with her, deeper into the wasteland.

They clashed again in the belly of a gorge, Cinder blackening the walls with hellfire and Glynda pulling down rocks upon them both. They fought with the wind whipping at their hair, turning Glynda’s cape into jagged wings and Cinder’s dress into a flickering flame. They led and chased and came together until it resembled a dance, the two of them face to face, chest to chest, baring teeth like smiling, snarling wolves—and then they would part and begin again.

Glynda knew Cinder’s feints from her counters, knew the telltale scrape of her heel before a sprint, the gentle cant of her body right before she pirouetted, drawing distance between them, dust on her face and ash in every breath. She knew the heat of her flames like an old friend.

And she knew the taunting chime of her laugh like she knew her own dreams, each iota of information carefully sorted and analyzed.

Glynda was relentless, hounding Cinder towards the wastes, never letting her rest, never offering reprieve. She could read it in Cinder’s expression every time they met: she never expected her to catch up so quickly. No one ever did, but Glynda was a hunter, fine-tuned and well-oiled, and she knew how to carve away the excess, making herself numb to the exhaustion.

They sundered the landscape, bouts of smoke leaving a testament to each collision, easily visible from the air. They tore each other apart, the wounds from each fight lingering into the next, Auras pushed to their limits. In the final outpost on the edge of all civilization, they exchanged savage blows, civilians scrambling and screaming all around them, unnoticed by both sides.

It should have killed one of them—both of them—but whenever survival held them balanced against one another, Cinder fled.

An animal’s sense. Glynda had seen it in all manner of beasts, and though she found Cinder’s expressions harder and harder to parse, she recognized this outright.

The only option: chase her down. Corner her. Make the kill.

It was with this in mind that Glynda managed to dog her for weeks, until the toes of her boots sunk into shifting sands at the heart of Vacuo’s desert.

From where she was, Glynda could see for miles before the horizon interrupted the orange sand—but there was no sign of Cinder. Far ahead, something like a mirage disrupted the endless nothing, and if she squinted she could see the worn walls of an old town. It still lived, if her maps were correct, clinging to existence in the sand wastes—but there was no way Cinder had already made it there. Glynda clicked her tongue in annoyance, wiping the sweat from her brow and setting off again.

The desert was dotted with rock spires, faltering thorns jutting out of the ground—none of them thick enough to hide a person but definitely strange enough to catch her eye, seeming to sway in the rising heat of the wastes.

They acted as the only shelter this far into the desert, her path tracking from spire to spire, using their fragile shadows as a chance to shield her eyes and have a good look around.

Absently, Glynda considered: this was an excellent place for an ambush.

Massive dark shapes were hazy on the horizon, old Grimm that knew better than to go after her when she was at full power. They most likely felt her presence just as clearly as she felt theirs, the crawling sensation across her neck growing more potent as more and more amassed.

This far away from bustling cities, Grimm were festering, gathering in clumps of black fur and feathers. They had chased her since Forever Fall, leaving behind their nests beneath the soil and in the hearts of mountains. They knew the tremors of her footsteps above, and without fail, emerged for her blood, constant shadows at the edge of her senses. Easy prey when they strayed too close, but still enough to take an edge off the constant, empty hunger in her.

She pursued Cinder, and in turn, Grimm pursued her, the hoard growing to waves of dozens in the six weeks since the attack on the CCT. Some of them were ancient, menacing in their own right, but none of them were a challenge—none of them were Cinder _._

Ignoring them was second nature now, even if more had gathered since she entered the wastes. Above her, the sun was relentless, the air shimmering with heat all around her. Every breath felt like inhaling nothing but dust and a memory of fire.

Her fingers absentmindedly grazed her ear, recalling: this desert could not hide Cinder from her. Nothing could.

She could tell even Cinder Fall was getting tired of her tenacity. Glynda had quickly learned that she would not drive Cinder to exhaustion easily—but she could frustrate her endlessly, never allowing either of them a moment to breathe and truly rest.

Though Glynda’s appearance certainly showed wear—her clothes spotted black with soot and yellow-red with blood, in some places torn as if by claws, and her skin marked by old bloodshed like rust—she would maintain steady pursuit like a wolf. The only time she relented, for just a few hours, was to find food or to sleep. Not long enough to let Cinder get proper headway or rest, she always made sure of that, but long enough to keep going.

It would whittle them both away, a battle of bloody attrition Glynda intended to win.

In her soft Beacon years, she had forgotten how a hunt made unnecessary things wilt and die to make room for stronger senses, and even forgotten how to use those stronger senses. Now, it was as if she had never lost them. Her blood didn’t just sing to her now; it roared like the engine of a great machine, and the prickle in her flesh at Cinder’s presence was like needles.

She followed that, the digging feeling that seemed to threaten to scrape through her skin and grind on her bones—closing in for a fight, then splitting from Cinder again to recharge, again and again. Eventually, she would have to buckle. Glynda was sure of that, as coldly as she could be sure of the planet’s continued rotation—undeniable fact anchoring her to her goal.

When she finally stopped and checked her Scroll, she had received upwards of twenty messages, spread out over the course of the last week or so. She stopped in the shade of one of the spires to make it easier to see her screen. Glynda flicked her messages open with trained, cold movements, eyes flitting only briefly over each of them before dismissing them. Ozpin was not usually such an impatient man—she supposed that came with his impressive age—but she could feel his urgency now, approaching desperation.

_“Glynda? I’m looking into things from my end.”_

“ _I might have found something. Hang on._ ”

“ _Get back to me when you can._ ”

_“Are you there?”_

_“Glynda?”_

After that, it was just more in the same tune, practically begging her to answer. Glynda’s fingers hovered over the message field for a few long seconds, some distant part of her trying recall how to properly respond.

She hadn’t had to search this hard for an appropriate response since she was a teenager, when her insides had felt dull and dead and she was reckless enough to scare even Ozpin. She remembered his concerned eyes, his wizened hands curled around the haft of his cane, and not knowing what to do or say to make it better, opting to say nothing in the end. She had been young then, yet to learn or respect the emotions people expected from her. Unfailingly, Ozpin had treated her with kindness, a patience she hadn’t found in any of the students at Beacon.

For the first time since she’d fully committed herself to the hunt, Glynda felt the prick of displacement. A small, distant part of her wanted to go home.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

“Sorry,” Glynda wrote. That was all she could think of to say. There was nothing to explain her absence. Luckily, his response was immediate—had he been waiting by the phone like that this whole time? A vague lurch of guilt quickly drowned in interest as she read his message.

 _“A previous Huntsman on Cinder Fall’s trail left his notes behind in a private safe storage with the Atlesian military,”_ Ozpin wrote. _“The safe box has not been opened since his death, but now that we know the potential value of its contents, it should be easy enough to get ahold of.”_

“How much did this previous Huntsman know?” Glynda asked, sitting down to rest against the rock that cast a shadow over her. It didn’t hide her from potential enemies, but it hid her from the sun well enough, inky black Grimm on the horizon stalking closer, always wary.

_“Well, we haven’t acquired his notes yet, as I said. But he must have gotten further than you have, if the silence is any indicator.”_

Glynda balked at his gentle reprimand and started writing a rebuttal, but hesitated and deleted it. She really didn’t have anything to show for her hunt—not yet. Ozpin was usually right, even when he took that tone with her. She had learned that lesson over and over again in the years since they had met. Instead of trying to defend herself, she stared blankly down at the screen, waiting for him to send her something more. A scalding wind whipped sand against her sides in waves, coming around the spire.

_“I take it you’re interested?”_

“Yes.”

_“I’ll get back to them, then. I’ll forward you the contact details after I get a response. Anything to add?”_

“Anyone but Ironwood,” she responded, leaving him to deduce what she meant.

A few minutes later, her Scroll buzzed again. Ozpin passed her the details for a secure communication channel to an Atlesian address, belonging to one Special Operative Winter Schnee. She saved the information, and then looked up, glancing around warily. Glynda barely remembered to send a ‘thank you’ to Ozpin before clicking her Scroll shut and putting it away.

The constant unease crawling down her spine intensified. She smelled fire.

Not the scorch of the earth this time, nor the dry smell of rocky sand. A choking wildfire, churning smog and destruction into the sky, ashes raining down—a smell like dying Grimm.

So, here was that ambush.  



	6. Something wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something wicked this way comes / is it God's or is it yours?

Hellfire lashed at the spire at Glynda’s back, the rock running down one side like fingers of wax. Glynda snatched her crop from its sheath and rolled, seizing the melting spire with her Semblance and snapping it at its thinning base. The blistering sands shifted beneath her weight when she jumped to her feet, but even stumbling for balance, she turned the spire into a lance and thrust it blindly into the flames.

They swallowed it whole and dimmed, licking at the bare ground and turning sand into patches of shined glass. For a split second, Glynda imagined a hit.

Then the mass at the core of them took shape, practically glowing from inside like a coal in a burner. Glynda recognized the patterns of gold surging with Aura along Cinder’s dress, the long strides which carried her over the molten remains of the stone spire.

A chill ran down Glynda’s spine, something cold and logical telling her Cinder Fall shouldn’t be capable of such a thing. In all their encounters, she’d only ever turned away Glynda’s assaults, the shards of debris red-hot but intact, but now—

Glynda cast a quick glare up to the unobstructed sun, quickly reasoning: if heavy rain could weaken Cinder…

Volcanoes flared with more compassion. Glynda’s Aura screamed against the next volley of flames, struggling to protect her. Cinder’s Semblance coaxed the inferno into a dual-headed serpent, hissing and spitting as they grew hotter and bigger.

It was all Glynda could do just gain distance, stumbling between columns of hellfire while Cinder advanced calmly, eyes ablaze with something like excitement. As Glynda had pursued her before, never allowing for respite, Cinder pursued her now, the rearing heads of the flame viper striking in quick succession. Even the slightest graze against her Aura invoked flash sweats, the heat of the desert paling in comparison.

As Glynda reached for another stone spire with her Semblance, Cinder preempted her. One of the snakes swallowed the formation whole, the rock hissing and cracking as it broke apart. Desperation for some kind of ammo bid Glynda pull at the sand itself as one of the heads bared its fangs at her flank, the wall of loose sediment melting into globs of glass on contact.

Quite reasonably, Glynda understood that she was running out of options. There was nowhere to run in this desolate wasteland, the inky blots of Grimm still hovering on the horizon, their ears pricked, their interest crawling across her neck.

Even if Glynda never could have planned for this boost to Cinder’s power, she was feeling the consequences of chasing her so blindly. Here, in a terrain marked by little but sand, Glynda was out of her element.

And Cinder, relentless as she was confident in her barefoot advance over smoking sand, must have known it.

On the edge of the endless wastes, Glynda spotted the crumbling walls from before. The synapses in her body all lit up in unison, a singular force to turn her path as the twin heads struck again, carving away at her strength without offering a chance at retaliation. Her lungs burned. Cinder’s attacks superheated the air until it felt as though she were inhaling the flames themselves.

Outside the main walls, sunken testaments to previous constructions dotted the landscape, half-buried in the sand, the remnants of a time when the city was larger. Glynda seized them as soon as her Semblance could reach, turning the heavy rubble on Cinder with a twist, not even stopping to aim.

The ground shook as the bricks fell uselessly among the sand, missing by a long shot. Unchallenged, the serpent lunged, but Glynda propelled herself forward with a burst of Aura at the last moment, feeling the heat on her neck.

With a wide move of her hand, a large portion of abandoned wall shook free from the sand, mortar crumbling between the bricks. She let it, allowed the heavy stone slabs to come apart freely, and turned the remains on Cinder. It was a smooth-moving liquid mass of rubble, shifting and rearranging itself as it weaved towards Cinder in a mockery of her own technique. Without batting an eye, Cinder crushed the poor imitation, one serpent-head incinerating the attack as the other aimed for Glynda.

Hellfire engulfed her completely, her Aura surging just to repel the heat, to keep her bones from cracking like kindling.

Every muscle in her body shrilled with the alarm bells of an over-worked machine, and instinctively, she swung her crop, picking up anything she could. Sand rose in a great wave, shielding her from the flames just enough for Glynda to escape. Her Aura was draining dangerously fast, and she calculated the damage, assessing her capabilities without stopping, every lesson about exhaustion and survival running through her mind like lines of code.

The city walls rose before her, growing closer with each step, and all of Glynda’s processing went into measuring out the Aura she’d need to clear it in a single bound.

Too much, if she was being honest, but staying here meant death, and death meant failure.

Starvation sucked at her marrow and despair mixed with her blood instead of magic. What remained of her Aura flared through every inch of her, but before she could leap, both heads of the snake converged on her at once. As solid as it was hot, Cinder’s strike was a freight train of Aura and fire, and it pummeled her straight into the wall.

Blackness swam at the edges of her vision, a choked grunt tearing from her throat. Her Aura nearly collapsed as Cinder’s attack sent her crashing through the city wall like a cannonball.

Had she not been preparing to jump, the impact could have broken her. She landed hard among the rubble, tumbling, her Aura cloaking her in what little protection it could. She blinked away the stars, scrambling to rise before Cinder could deal the finishing blow.

Before she even made it to her knees, a damning crack tore through the constant ringing in her ears, her attention snapping up to the wall she’d just been blasted through. Cinder had punched her right through the base, but fractures crept up as more stone fell away. Acute realization struck Glynda at the same time the fractures reached the crux of the wall.

And then the whole section caved.

Glynda coughed, covering her face as clouds of dust and sand filled her lungs, stinging her eyes. She staggered to her feet, crop clutched tight at her side. In the distance, a Grimm howled.

_This city_ , Glynda thought, squinting and looking around, catching flashes of a street, ancient vehicles, lines of shops, and dozens of faces, all struck with horror. _The Grimm. Cinder_.

Her body tensed all at once, and a split second before Cinder’s attack consumed the spot she had been standing, Glynda leapt aside. The scent of smoke filled her nose—her cape? She grit her teeth, reaching behind her and patting out the singed fabric. Crop held at the ready, Glynda stared down the two heads emerging from the dispersing dust clouds.

She was slowing down, that she knew. Where the serpents’ bodies joined together, Glynda spotted the glint of gold. She also knew Cinder had no plans to end their bout here.

“Not as spry as you used to be?” Cinder stepped through the open gap in the wall, her eyes never leaving Glynda even as people began to raise the alarm, pointing at the broken wall and turning to flee. They knew what would come next just as well as Glynda did. “It must be the heat.”

Cinder didn’t often speak during their fights—not after the brutal punishment Glynda had dealt in Forever Fall Forest. For her to do it now… Glynda felt the sweat collect along her forehead, but her expression never changed.

Clicking her tongue at Glynda’s silence, Cinder’s eyes narrowed a fraction, a tell Glynda knew intimately. One snake lunged, and she raised debris from the wall to protect herself, feeling the strain deep within her, like stretching a muscle too far. Breathless, she swept back into the city, fending off Cinder’s assault with whatever she could grab.

Vibrant colors passed her by, woven rugs and open grills, the street tight and confined. The people were already escaping, trampling each other to run the other way. When the way was blocked, they climbed from their cars and fled. Glynda danced around the sitting vehicles, using them as cover.

She tore off the metal roof of a stall, crates of goods, a flashing, electronic sign advertising something, and Cinder’s flames burnt each to ash.

Yet even as Glynda darted between abandoned cars, every move dedicated to retreat, she couldn’t stop turning to look past Cinder to the desert stretching beyond the broken wall. The dark shapes moving on the horizon, consolidating. Another howl was taken up by the Grimm, their shapes growing larger, and all of Glynda prickled at once.

The first of them would reach the city in moments, caution abandoned for the great opportunity, the fear and pandemonium bubbling over like a witch’s cauldron. People were beginning to scream from the impending massacre or the heat of Cinder’s flames.

Yet for all that Cinder must have known what rushed at her back, she didn’t waver, her eyes set on Glynda, never straying. Glynda reached for one of the buildings, but when she tried to pull it down upon Cinder, only a couple of bricks dropped from the roof.

A Grimm—a scorpion-like Deathstalker twice the size of any of the cars in the street—reached the breach in the wall first. Glynda knew the rest would follow, and then this town, for so long protected by its walls, would fall.

And Glynda, a Huntress trained to kill Grimm, could do nothing to stop it, her Aura disappearing like smoke in the breeze.

As if Cinder were thinking the same thing, she swept her arms in a wide arc, and the flame serpent threw Glynda through a shop stall and into the house behind it. Sandstone broke like glass, and Glynda’s Aura shield shattered moments after her skull would have, furniture cracking beneath her as she landed.

For several seconds, the world was only chaos, her brain too shocked to process anything correctly. Stars flared against the darkness of her vision, the impact of the ground against her back violent and startling, no Aura to dull the pain. For the first time in years, fear pricked at Glynda, reminding her that she had not died.

But that she was about to.

The ringing in her ears faded, sounds returning in a jumble. Even now, she knew there was no room for fear, and she snuffed it out, focusing on parsing the information coming in. She heard screaming still. Dull sounds of rubble still settling. Finally, an awareness of her own body returned, washing over her in an unforgiving wave. A mix of the aching deprivation in her blood and the much more physical cuts, bruises, and broken bones.

Her Aura had barely saved her life before going out like a candle, her battered body left in some sort of dining room, the remains of a table crushed beneath her. Blood bloomed in slow roses through her clothes. Even though she was able to assess the damage, when she tried to move and her joints resisted her, she experienced a moment of puzzlement. It had been so long since she had been truly injured; her first response was not panic or defensive wrath, but sheer confusion at why parts of her weren’t functioning properly.

Glynda was as vulnerable as a rabbit in a snare. She tried to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain through her torso left her curled on her side in agony, gasping for breath, bloodied hands grasping helplessly at her body as if she could soothe away the pain just by holding it. One of her glasses’ lenses was shattered, but with some effort from her sore neck, she finally managed to look up and focus on the hole in the wall, the room closing around her like a cage.

A jolt of terrible recognition shot down her spine at the sight of Cinder Fall silhouetted against the sunlight filtering in, her dress billowing around her as her flame construct faded into nothing behind her.

Dark shapes plagued the streets like phantoms, chasing the living with teeth bared, hooked claws long and reaching. Despite her state, Glynda instinctively tensed, the echoing pound of her heart between her ribs urging her to rise. Her prey was before her, but her body could not hunt, and because of that, the Grimm would leave absolutely nothing of this city.

Glynda grit her teeth, not daring to close her eyes to focus on her Aura. She prodded and goaded the dregs of strength buried in the aching depths of her soul, trying to draw out more power than it could possibly provide, trying to force it to multiply in size and allow her to stand.

Cinder’s silhouette was growing, her eyes glowing like forge-fresh gold. As she ducked into the shade cast by the ruined remains of the house, Glynda could see the expression on her face clearly. She looked unusually tense, without a hint of her usual sneers and smirks. Her eyes were fixed on Glynda, betraying no emotions, her mouth a neutral line.

It was like looking into a mirror and trying to parse the empty gaze staring back at her.

An uncontrollable flash of imagination brought to mind an image of Ozpin having to find her as they had found the previous Hunter sent after Cinder—left out in the open for someone to find, clothes burned black, baking beneath the sun and picked at by scavengers. He would have to take her destroyed body back to Beacon, for she could never return to the only home she’d ever known by her own feet again.

Vaguely, fear pricked at her once more, flourishing even as she tried to smother it, her jaw set, unwilling to blink, to swallow, to breathe. Cinder’s strides were that of a predator, empty eyes locked with Glynda’s. When would she realize Glynda had nothing left to give? When would she make the killing blow? Glynda tasted copper, faintly realizing that she was biting down on her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Her lungs were starting to long for air, but it felt as though any move might be an invitation to end it.

Outside, scales scraped against stone.

The Grimm pursuing Glynda were ancient, massive things, and this King Taijitu was no different. Strikingly similar in size and shape to the twin-headed snake Cinder had created, its tongue flickering out to taste the air as one head appeared through the opening behind Cinder. Its skull plating was yellowed and cracked, the searing pits of its eyes wide and watching, some base sentience within as it turned on the two of them.

It sampled the air again, and as it slipped into the house, the second head appeared, both sets of eyes firmly on Glynda even with Cinder between them. All at once, it was like Cinder had never dismissed her flame creature, this one arising from behind her with black and white scales instead of fire. Glynda gripped her crop in futile resistance, the wail of her pulse in her ears, but her Aura had nothing to offer. The heads rose, flanking Cinder on either side, scales sliding against the ceiling, and at last, Glynda sucked in a final breath.

The spell shattered. Cinder snapped into focus and spun on her heel, hands shooting up just as the two heads lunged, maws wide, fangs bared.

There were no flames, no explosive counters—if Glynda had blinked, she would have missed it. The Grimm halted, frozen in time as chaos raged just outside. Yellow eyes narrowed, tongues flickering out furiously, but nothing and no one moved.

“Leave,” Cinder said, low and forceful.

The twin heads inched closer, their snouts a hair’s breadth from Cinder’s open palms. For perhaps the first time, Glynda noticed the red markings etched into Cinder’s skin, looping sigils across her shoulder blades. They flared bright, but the golden, Dust-born ones sewn into her dress didn’t react, lifeless and cold.

Cinder’s toes curled against the stone. _“Leave_.”

This time, even the world beyond the house seemed to still, every Grimm frozen, ears pricked, noses turned towards the air. Glynda could feel them all, but for the first time, they weren’t focused on her at all.

Cinder dropped her hands and took a step forward, and in response, the King Taijitu retreated. It backed out of the house entirely as Cinder stood on the threshold, the unnatural quiet stirring deep unease in Glynda.

Both of the Grimm’s heads blinked at her, assessing, computing, base intelligence chugging away within their empty skulls.

And then the King Taijitu turned, long body disappearing from sight—and it wasn’t the only one. Dozens of Grimm passed them, the whole group headed back in the direction of the breach, their ears pinned back to their heads, mandibles and claws snapping together.

Glynda was barely breathing, unable to properly process what had happened—even unable to truly settle her mind on what she had seen. The Grimm were gone, and at Cinder’s command? It shouldn’t have been possible, but Glynda had seen the whole thing, her eyes still trained on Cinder’s back, watching the deep exhale which caused those thin shoulders to sag. Cinder stood silent and still as a queen, watching her soldiers lower their heads as they passed her by.

Feeling the smallest blossom of Aura in her chest at last, Glynda nurtured it like a flickering flame, kickstarting her Aura’s restoration. Once her Aura began to replenish, it would feed on itself for strength and swell at an inhuman rate, but for now... Glynda braced her hands against the floor, her muscles screaming in protest as she tried to push herself up.

Alerted by some miniscule sound, Cinder’s head turned, eyes gleaming like an animal’s by night. As if just remembering Glynda’s presence, she strode back into the house, purpose in every step, nothing but confidence and predatory grace.

Glynda tasted blood, on her elbows and knees in the dust, struggling to keep her chin up, teeth grit in stubborn defiance. Blood gushed relentlessly from her wounds, and the pain in her body was white-hot, almost too strong to be properly felt at all. Something in her resisted, refusing to let her die on her belly like a defenseless worm.

She was not strong enough to fight. She may not have been strong enough to stand. Nevertheless, something in her wouldn’t accept her fate docilely, like a war cry in her soul that drove her to push her weary bones to carry her.

She could smell the sulfur and smoke as Cinder drew near, bare feet making light steps on the tile floor, barely audible. Neither of them said anything—to Glynda, no words would have mattered now. It was simple now.

Cinder was a stalking mountain lion, Glynda the frightened deer desperately kicking out with broken legs. She could only wait for the suffocating bite that would break her neck.

It never came.

Instead, Cinder examined Glynda closely before crouching carefully before her, one knee pressed into the ground. The heat of her palm registered on Glynda’s cheek even in this desert.

“The great Glynda Goodwitch, on her knees before the enemy.” Cinder said, thumb smoothing an errant tangle of blonde hair out of Glynda’s eyes. “Do you understand what I could do to you?”

Of course she did. If Cinder wanted, she could have killed her. Tricks wouldn’t do Glynda any good now. More than anything, Glynda couldn’t understand why Cinder would hesitate on the killing blow.

Had it been the other way around, Cinder would have already been dead.

Though Glynda said nothing, Cinder laughed, like she’d gleaned enough from Glynda’s vacant stare. “You don’t even care, do you?”

Wrong. This was Glynda’s mission, entrusted to her by Ozpin himself. Failure was unacceptable. Even so, she said: “I won’t beg for mercy.”

Cinder smiled. “Smart.”

Her hand dropped to cover Glynda’s, and Glynda couldn’t help but flinch, knowing the harm those hands could do. There was no pain, no flames, just the vague sensation of Cinder taking Glynda’s hand in her own and pulling up.

After nearly six weeks of measuring Cinder’s strength by the bruises left behind from their clashes, Glynda knew better than to be surprised at how easily Cinder pulled her to her feet. She was, however, surprised at the spark between their palms, Aura shooting through her arm and rushing to fill the empty spaces of her own soul. Red-hot and foreign, it was entirely unlike any other Aura Glynda had ever felt. In her years, Glynda had encountered hundreds of people and their Auras—but this was something dark and feral, wine-red and ichor-black, shooting scalding and angry through Glynda’s own body. A steady flow of blood or a seep of decay; Cinder’s Aura was so wild it barely felt human at all.

Greedily accepting the extra boost Cinder gave, Glynda’s Aura flourished anew, building upon the gift. The pain in every limb dulled, and she swayed, lightheaded from the rush. Cinder steadied her—tugging her closer, the grip on Glynda’s hand edging on painful.

Cinder smiled, all power and sunlight _,_ her gaze mimicking the heat of her flesh. Then, Cinder’s fingers relaxed as Glynda found her balance, her Aura giving one final blitz before she pulled away, her absence as striking as her presence.

Winking, she said, “You owe me.”

“No, I don’t,” Glynda answered automatically, barely registering the words as her own, her throat dry, voice ragged.

Unfazed, Cinder ran her fingers through her silver-streaked hair. “You’re a touch too old for petulant, Glynda. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

It couldn’t have been shame which colored her cheeks; more likely it was surprise, unaccustomed to the shock of being on the receiving end of a lecture. Smug satisfaction oozed from Cinder as Glynda struggled to muster a retort.

Before she could, Cinder turned, stopping just before she disappeared through the hole in the wall. She said, “Take care, Glynda.”

Then she was gone, quick as she’d come.

Looking down at her palm where a faint prickle of magic still lingered, Glynda carefully closed her hand and opened it again.

Soon, her Aura would completely erase any trace of injury, allowing the pain to fade away into a haze of memories, as if it never truly happened.

With some effort, she crossed to the ruined wall, pausing to lean against it, and with a weary sigh, she surveyed the town, the broken wall, the ravaged streets. The Grimm were gone, but in their wake, questions remained—none more pressing than this:

Just who was Cinder Fall?


	7. Sinking like a stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't say I'm driven, I wouldn't say I'm brave / I work with what I'm given, and try to keep the faith

In the smoldering remains of their fight, Glynda felt the spark of Cinder’s Aura like the only proof of their interaction. Encouraged by the gift, her chest was a steadily filling basin, swallowing the pain and unnecessary thoughts. Exhaustion still harried her, but Glynda buried it deep, forcing herself to follow Cinder’s trail to the gaping wound they’d left in the city’s defenses.

Though she couldn’t see her, Glynda could feel her. Close enough to catch, if she pushed herself. Mutely, her body gave protest as she took the first step through the wall, only to stop, frozen to the spot.

Something nagged at her. A forgotten thing. She thought hard, but even so, it took a long moment for her to remember.

The wall. Even her thoughts took on Ozpin’s patient but chiding tone. If she left the wall like this people would die. Many people. Maybe the whole city.

Glynda looked back at the devastation behind her. Then she looked at the horizon. She would lose Cinder this time, but she knew she would find her again. Glynda’s hunting instincts were primed, the only part of her that worked with absolute clarity, even now.

And so, the wall.

People gathered to watch as she repaired the wall, her joints creaking with every step like an engine trying to fire, its cylinders clogged with sand. Neatly, precisely, she slotted the rubble back into its original spot, rebuilding the wall so seamlessly it might have never been breached.

When she finished, she turned and found their gazes keener. Though she hadn’t fixed everything, the return of the wall promised that this little town on the fringe of civilization wouldn’t face extinction. A reverent whisper passed through the crowd like wind through dry grass.

Glynda barely noticed, her mind already working out the next step. Pursuit was an option, but the more she forced her body, the more she felt the battle’s toll. A short rest would replenish her enough to catch up.

She turned away, intending to find a vaguely horizontal place to sleep, but one of them stopped her, his voice trembling, and offered her a place at his roadhouse.

Sweat trickled down her back. Automatic response: _I can’t._ Her brain chugged, something clicking into place. Hotel. Food. Shower. Bed.

Glynda couldn’t muster a response, but she nodded, sheathing her crop. He bowed his head and led her through the battle-torn streets, the civilians all pulled away back to their lives, trying to set the rest of the damage to rights.

The walk wasn’t long. The city was built in layers upon itself, crowding its inhabitants into multistory buildings, straining to fit within the walls that protected them. He tried to speak to her, but she couldn’t muster any response. Silence fell between them, and he escorted her to a room, the door clicking closed behind her.

Alone, she looked around. Small room with an adjoining bathroom, bare save for the necessities. The bed was the biggest thing within, and she shuffled towards it.

Normally, she would shower before bed. She wasn’t so picky anymore. Without even kicking off her shoes, Glynda collapsed into the bed there, face buried in the pillow.

In the split second before she faded from consciousness, she smelled ash, the foreign Aura within her flaring until she could taste it: burning flesh and steady decay. Then it disappeared, fizzling out.

She did not dream. She couldn't remember dreaming anything since she’d begun this hunt.

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, it was like pulling herself from some great void, escaping the gaping jaws of blackness not by startling into awareness, but through the slow remembrance that she, Glynda Goodwitch, existed at all.

Blinking, she observed her pillow. There were dark smudges against it. She squinted. Dirt and—ah. Her blood.

Quite automatically, Glynda rolled over, reaching for her glasses on the nightstand. It felt for a moment like blessed normalcy, like waking in her room at Beacon and beginning her morning routine. Then she remembered that at Beacon, her blood usually stayed inside her body.

Once she could see in sharper focus—when had she cracked one of her lenses?—Glynda confirmed with some disappointment that this wasn’t her room in Beacon. It was the room she’d all but dissembled in after getting her ass kicked and then saved by Cinder Fall.

For a moment, the enormity of that puzzle weighed down on Glynda as she lay staring at the ceiling. Then she decided this was better dealt with after she’d showered.

Rolling out of bed, Glynda was shocked at the pain sulking in her joints. She moved carefully. She moved mindful of every injury she’d sustained the day before. Somehow, she made to the bathroom, and turned on the spray, extracting herself from her clothes as gently as possible.

The water felt lukewarm at best after the unforgiving heat of the desert, but the moment the spray from the showerhead hit her skin, her head turned to mush. The water ran yellow-red as she washed the dried blood off her skin, and some distant, unused part of her brain fired up again, registering the feeling as comfort.

Shedding the layers of blood felt like chipping the rusty and dented outer shell off a metal construct—she was almost surprised to find soft skin underneath. Glynda ran her fingers through her hair, vigorously rinsing the dust and dirt from it, her scalp stinging slightly when she scrubbed herself clean.

It was about time. She hadn't had a real bath in a long while—at best a quick rinse in a stream here and there. Since beginning on Cinder’s trail, she’d been too caught up in the hunt to stop for proper lodging. So she relished this shower, staying longer than she needed even if it meant more time for Cinder to elude her.

She didn’t get the feeling Cinder was particularly worried about escaping her now anyway.

Questions filtered in slowly, and instead of immediately pushing them away in favor of efficiency, Glynda let them trickle in. Bit by bit, they swelled into a great sea.

What was Cinder doing running around Remnant on foot? Why did she save Glynda from certain death? If she wasn’t trying to kill Glynda, what was she doing allowing her to track her so far?

From what Glynda understood, those who had been sent after Cinder before had all met untimely ends. That Cinder seemed to have something else in mind for Glynda crept up her spine to nestle at the base of her skull, weighty and worrisome.

Pangs of hunger were the only thing capable of drawing Glynda from beneath the spray, and mournfully, she turned off the water and reached for a towel. As she dried herself off, her mind returned to its endless cycle of wonder. As important as it was to know why Cinder had saved Glynda’s life by turning away the Grimm, the _how_ seemed more relevant now.

She hadn’t held any device, hadn’t even used any Dust. There had only been a stirring of life along those red-vein tattoos, swirling just along the cut of Cinder’s dress. And then Cinder, a bastion between Glynda and death, had commanded the Grimm to leave—and they had.

It could be a Semblance, Glynda reasoned, reaching up to squeeze the water from her hair. If there were Semblances which could control Grimm though, they’d never been documented, not even once in all of history.

And besides, Cinder’s Semblance was fire. Glynda had tasted it enough to know that no Dust-born flames could ever burn that hot. Which meant that if this was a power she possessed naturally, she’d be a heretic to the Law of Semblances twice-over, first for her control of the Grimm at all and second for whatever unfair stroke of destiny had bestowed her flame as well.

Halfway through gathering pale curls of hair loosely over one shoulder, Glynda paused, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. A thriving sunburn made her face look constantly flushed, and she roused her Aura to soothe away the redness.

At least chasing Cinder through this awful desert might leave her with a nice tan, Glynda thought, her mouth quirking into a half-smile.

The sight of it struck her as strange, and the smile fell from her lips. How long had it been since she’d looked at her reflection and seen something besides single-minded intent?

A pensive frown formed instead, and for the first time, Glynda considered how much she’d invested in this hunt. Anyone else would have stopped to rest more. Anyone else would have paid more attention to their own well-being.

Just yesterday, Glynda had been sure she was right to pursue Cinder as hard as she had. She’d chased her carelessly, blindly. She’d been so certain she was the hunter and Cinder the prey. Now she didn’t know, especially with the Grimm.

Decades now, and Glynda had never had to rely on anything but her endurance during a hunt. Now… Well, even she couldn’t deny that she needed a new strategy.

Just the thought of having to figure out something else exhausted her. Ozpin had always chided her for being too rigid in her approach to things, but she thought even he would forgive her for being incapable right now. Though her injuries had healed and her Aura replenished, not even sleeping had cured her of the lingering aches. It was the kind of subtle damage that only time could heal—the proof that she had pushed herself and her Aura too far.

For the first time in years, Glynda wanted to set everything aside and rest.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, a towel around her waist and her dirty clothes balled in her hands, she found that clean robe had been set out for her on the bed, and on the nightstand next to it, a tray of food. Glynda’s mouth watered at just the sight, and the smell of freshly baked bread and a thick lentil soup cut through the steam to reach her.

Dropping her clothes and making a beeline for the food, she dropped onto the edge of the bed and yanked the tray into her lap. Glynda had always had an impressive appetite, but now she was weak and recovering. In a matter of minutes, she was licking the final drops of the stew from her spoon.

It was only once she’d finished and glanced around the room—hoping by some miracle that there was more—that Glynda noticed her Scroll, flashing with messages. She licked her lips, grimacing. All of them were surely from Ozpin, but even with a belly full of food, she didn’t feel human enough yet to deal with his concern.

Setting aside the tray, she rose, not ready to give into the urge to simply lie down—yet. Dropping the towel from around her waist, she slipped into the robe instead, tying it at the front. It was soft and freshly laundered, and Glynda sighed in delight. How long had she denied herself something as simple as clean clothes?

Speaking of… She turned to the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. The thought of putting them back on was enough to turn her stomach. After a quick search, she found a small laundry basket under the bed, with instructions taped into the bottom to leave dirty clothes in it just outside the door. Glynda gathered all her things into the basket and set them outside, closing the door behind her quickly.

With that done, she found no other reason to keep her from crawling into bed. She pulled the sheets back this time, actually crawling in under them. The air conditioning kept the room cool, and the sheets were pleasantly warm against her skin.

Pulling her Scroll into her lap, she absently touched the notch at her ear, gathering her thoughts. It was time to begin making some sense of all of this.

She had to slow down and think. No more rushing ahead and getting herself torn up for nothing. It seemed clear to her that Cinder wasn’t truly trying to escape her—not after their last fight. Glynda had time.

Checking her messages, she found they were along the same lines as before. Ozpin had never been so fretful while she was on a mission before, but then, she hadn’t been out on a mission for this long in ages. Besides, it turned out he had good reason to be concerned.

A thought occurred to Glynda: if anyone was going to know about obscure Semblances, who better than Ozpin, who had lived for two centuries now? Breaching the subject, though…

Glynda shook her head. Too difficult. She needed to do something else before she committed to that.

The contact info he’d sent her earlier hung four messages above his most recent one. Glynda considered it for a moment, and then dialed the number.

A holographic screen flared to life in front of her, complete with a little spinning wheel and a ringing sound. It only rang twice before an image appeared, surprisingly clear.

There could be no doubt who she was. Winter Schnee had the pale white hair of her bloodline, and the sharp features of the famously reclusive Willow Schnee. Her black uniform was tidy, the angles all pressed, and an array of awards decorated her chest. As Ozpin had said, she was twice the age of the younger Schnee daughter, and her blue eyes held all the acuity that age had brought her.

First impression: incompetence wouldn’t be an issue with this one.

“Special Operative Winter Schnee, I presume?” Glynda greeted.

Nodding, Winter replied, “Professor Goodwitch? Professor Ozpin informed me you would be in touch. One moment, please.”

Rising from her seat, Winter turned and strode just out of view, her posture impeccable. In her absence, Glynda observed a stark white wall, a window peeking into the frame. Snow drifted by, the backdrop of an expansive city rising from the urban jungle unique to Atlas. Inside, the décor was conservative and neat, a shelf lining the wall set with a reasonable amount of books and one wilting potted plant.

A single photo hung on the wall next to a placard detailing some kind of award. Glynda pushed her glasses up on her nose to get a better look. Though it had the appearance of a family photo, only the women of the Schnee family were present, Willow and Weiss flanking a newly ranked Winter.

It was the first time Glynda had ever seen Weiss smile so brightly, her arm wrapped tightly around Winter’s waist. Even Willow Schnee appeared content.

Family photos. Was this her office then?

There was a soft sound, like the closing of a door, and then Winter appeared on-screen again, settling back into her seat. “Excuse that, but I assume parts of this conversation are going to be classified.”

“I think so,” Glynda agreed.

“Very well. This line is secure, so as long as you’re in a safe location…”

Winter’s voice petered off. Glynda waited.

“Professor Goodwitch… Where are you right now?”

Glynda blinked. In the small box in the corner of the screen, she could see herself. Where Winter was the picture of a professional, Glynda was the exact opposite. In her robe, with her still-wet hair hanging loosely around her face, she looked like she might have just come from the spa.

“Ah. A hotel.” Then: “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Winter reached for a mug resting just off-screen and lifted it to her lips. “Well, as long as you’re alone, we should be alright. Shall we get down to business?”

Glynda nodded.

“Professor Ozpin tells me you’re in the middle of an investigation on Cinder Fall,” Winter said.

_Investigation_ wasn’t the word Glynda would use. After a moment, she finally nodded and said, “Of sorts.”

“Oh?” A curious interest.

“It’s been, um. A bit more hands-on than an investigation.” Winter’s brow arched. Glynda fumbled for some further explanation, but it felt hard to quantify her hunt so far when the majority of it had been spent in a battle-thirsty haze. “We just almost destroyed a city.”

“Ah. Yes, well, I heard about the rail-lines in Forever Fall. Considering you’ve been tailing someone like her, you look… Well. Relatively unscathed.” Winter’s eyes lingered over the notch on Glynda’s ear, and reflexively, Glynda reached up to touch it. “I hope all the trouble has been worth something. Have you learned anything?”

“I think her Semblance has an environmental component. Rain seems to hamper her, and intense sunlight seems to give her a boost.”

Glynda did not mention the thrashing she’d received to acquire that little tidbit of knowledge.

“That’s somewhat unusual for a Semblance. Hm.” Winter made a note somewhere off-screen. “Anything else?”

“No. Well...” Weeks of tailing Cinder Fall, and all Glynda had to show for it was a vague battle assessment. Color warmed her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “Actually, I was calling you to find out more.”

“I see. I suppose Professor Ozpin has told you about our discovery, then. I fear he might have oversold us on that account.”

“What do you mean?”

Winter sighed, setting aside her mug. “The short version is: with the renewed interest in this case, we revisited the last Huntsman’s reports and discovered files which may assist you in your investigation. Unfortunately, we can't yet access them.”

“Why not?”

“Encryption.” Winter touched her temple, the word a curse in her mouth. “The last Huntsman assigned to Cinder Fall—Ochre—used a personal key in his last report. We can only assume it was for increased security, but… Well, regardless, it will take time for a team to crack, and unfortunately, I don’t have much of an estimate on when we’ll see results.”

“Do we at least have an idea of what the report contains?”

“No, but we can speculate that it’s important. From what we know, it’s the last report written before his death, and we think it’s the result of him getting closer to Cinder Fall than he’d attempted before.” Winter paused, waning somewhat apologetic. “As I said, I think Professor Ozpin severely oversold our usefulness here.”

Glynda frowned. This sounded like a dead end. 

Winter must have read the disappointment on her face because she said, “Yes, it’s… rather frustrating. Not only did we miss these potentially crucial files for almost a year, we now have them and can’t access them.”

“Doesn’t someone there have the key? If he was making reports, he had someone to receive them, right? How were these files even missed to begin with?”

A strange expression crossed Winter’s face. It looked like how bruises felt.

Clearing her throat, Winter said, “Yes, well… I was acting as Ochre’s contact for this case. I was advising him, and except for this one, he sent his reports to me using a standard encryption. For whatever reason, he didn’t send his last report. He uploaded it to the database without alerting me.”

“Without alerting you? That seems…”

“Unusual, yes,” Winter finished for her. A beat. Winter chewed her lip, then said, “Ochre and I both earned our Special Operative ranks at the same time. I knew him very well before this case, but... towards the end of his life, he seemed different. Withdrawn. Nervous. Careful, even more so than usual. I could scarcely get him to discuss his findings with me.

“At the time, I thought that the case was unconventional, and required unconventional methods in order to succeed, even if that meant I didn’t know exactly what he was doing at all times. In hindsight… I think he may have lost faith in my ability to guide him.”

An empty smile. Guilt.

For a moment, Glynda could see Cinder in her mind’s eye, building a pyre upon the bones of her pursuers. There was no doubt the Huntsman—Ochre—had met a painful end, yet that only served to remind Glynda that when Cinder had had the chance to end things with her, she didn’t.

Motives and questions swirled, leaving her thoughts in disarray.

“I apologize,” Winter said, shattering the thick silence which had descended between them. Glynda hadn’t even noticed it. “I’m digressing; I’ve said too much. I’m afraid that—that when I found out about these additional files, it, well, brought some things back to the fore, so to speak.”

“No, I understand,” Glynda said quickly.

“Thank you, Professor Goodwitch. Rest assured, I’ve learned from my mistakes with Cinder Fall. I won’t make them again. You have my full support here, Professor.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Glynda said, hoping it wasn’t too little, too late.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Winter said, in that particular tone people used when they wanted you to know that you were off the hook. Then, making another note on her pad, Winter said, “I’ll keep you informed on our progress on the report. Will this number work for future contact?”

Glynda nodded, but she still felt uneasy. “Texts work best. Then I can call you back when I get the chance.”

“Understood. I hope we’ll be in touch soon. It will be good to finally get some closure on this.” Winter waved. “Take care, Professor Goodwitch. And please don’t hesitate to ring me if you need anything.”

The Scroll’s hologram screen closed, and the gentle whir of the Scroll itself died out. Left alone, Glynda stared at the wall on the other side of the room, motionless, realizing that she knew nothing more than before about the enemy, her capabilities, or her motives.

The thing she kept returning to: that Cinder hadn’t killed Glynda, even when she’d killed all those who had come before her.

Cinder had every chance to go for the kill. It would have been easy for her to finish Glynda off, when she was too wounded and spent to even crawl. But Cinder had shown mercy, to her and the town, turning away the Grimm and sending them back into the desert.

...And then, Cinder had done more. Glynda looked down at her own hand, as if there might still be proof of where Cinder had pulled Glynda to her feet and let her hungry soul have bits of her own.

_So_ , Glynda thought, making a fist and tucking it by her side, Cinder did not want her dead.

The knowledge should have been comforting. It should have made her feel like no matter what happened in their fights, if Cinder refused to go for the kill Glynda would ultimately win the game and walk away with her head. It should have inspired confidence and eliminated all risk, even with the Grimm.

Instead, it only filled her with deep unease. Glynda didn't know what Cinder’s game was, but it was becoming clear that it did not align with her own. And the more she thought about it, the less she understood. The less she understood, the more wary she became.

She needed help. She needed Oz.

Exhaling, Glynda touched the screen on her Scroll again to activate it. The light at the corner flashed faithfully, alerting her to messages, and she swallowed, remembering how long it had been since she’d had a true conversation with Oz. He would be understanding, that she knew, but that didn’t change how negligent she’d been.

With a touch, she opened what he’d sent her, scanning the messages asking after her health, her mission, anything to get her to respond.

She grimaced, trying to find the words to make this right. Perhaps a direct approach.

“Hello.”

He’d greeted her the same way plenty of times before. Surely this would—

_“Hello, Glynda. How are you?”_

A shadow of smile snuck onto her face. Maybe this would be easier than she’d expected. She wrote, “I followed up on your lead. Winter Schnee was a good pick.”

_“Yes, I think you’ll like her! She’s one of James’ most prodigious soldiers. A promising girl with so much ahead of her, James assures me. Did she help you discover anything useful?”_

So he didn’t know. “The records were encrypted. They haven’t managed to crack the code yet, but I’ll know when they do. In the meantime, I wanted your counsel on something.”

_“Oh?”_

Glynda hesitated. Ozpin had seen the ages come and go, untouched by time. He’d seen and trained generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses now; if there was anyone who’d be privy to obscure Semblances from times past, it was him.

Still. She didn’t want to raise alarm. Best to ease into this...

“Have you ever come across a method to control Grimm? Or anyone who was capable of such a thing?”

_“What? No? Why??”_

Glynda pressed her lips; she needed a delicate hand here, needed to carefully choose a response which would divert Ozpin away from the topic. “No reason.”

Her Scroll buzzed immediately. _“Are you sure? What’s going on there?”_

Glynda sighed and tilted her head back into the pillow, closing her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d led herself to believe. And now that she knew even Ozpin didn’t have answers for her…

Side-stepping this conversation was going to be a mess, but explaining it would be even worse. Her conscious nagged at her: if not with Ozpin, who could she trust this with?

Mulling it over, she ran through her extraordinarily short list of contacts—with Winter Schnee as the newest addition—before deciding. There was no one she trusted more than Oz. 

“I think Cinder can control Grimm. Well, actually I’ve seen her do it.”

Letter by letter, she tapped out what she’d seen, and despite the long pause between her first text and her explanation, Oz didn’t respond to rush her. A short summary was all she needed—she didn’t think Oz would doubt her—but it was difficult to come up with more than tactile descriptions of the events. Extreme cases of tunnel vision were nothing new for Glynda, her focus so acute nothing could dissuade her, but now she wished she had a better recollection of the entirety of the attack. There might have been details she was missing.

Not entirely satisfied, she eventually resigned herself to sending what she could.

Had Glynda remembered more than the sensation of rough stone and the smell of smoke, she might have had more to add. Oz knew her though, and she hoped he would be understanding if her report sounded like a purely technical analysis of a work of art, all concrete components and no cohesion.

_“This is very disturbing indeed. Where are you now, Glynda?”_

“Recovering. I don’t know where Cinder is, but I can probably find her.”

Glynda’s instincts had always led her in the right direction before. As long as she didn’t wait too long, she was certain she could catch up again.

_“That may not be the best course of action. If she truly can control the creatures of Grimm, this might be more dangerous than I initially assumed. It would be safer for you to return to Beacon so we can reassess the risk.”_

Glynda felt the hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end, a cold jolt running up her spine even in the heat of this desert.

Going home—

Abandoning the hunt _now?_ Like this? Glynda’s pride bristled.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m a Huntress. Killing Grimm isn’t a problem for me.”

_“That depends on the Grimm, Glynda. There are creatures out there even you would struggle against, and that’s before factoring in Cinder’s strength.”_

Glynda pulled the Scroll closer to her face, hunching over it and quickly typing out a response, her mouth a flat line. “She doesn’t want me dead. If she did, she would have killed me already. I can beat her.”

It occurred to Glynda that returning to Beacon was what she had been longing for all along, yet now she was fighting against it. She set her jaw. She wanted to go home. She really did! She missed Oz and she missed her routine and she missed her classes, but—

But this development… She might have regretted being unable to meet the challenge of Cinder Fall if she’d been called off before. It might have even stuck with her for some time. But now, the mystery of just why she would hesitate to finish Glynda off dug at her.

Glynda was invested now, in a way she was rarely invested in anything else.

_“I have faith in you, Glynda. But there are terrible things that can be done to a person even without killing them.”_

That gave her pause.

It wasn’t unusual for Oz to talk circles around something, but she was unaccustomed to him doing so with her. He knew she preferred bluntness, but this smacked of the kinds of subtle evasions he used with Ironwood.

Very carefully, she typed out her response. “Do you know something, Oz?”

A moment passed. Then: _“I’m simply worried about you, Glynda. Cinder Fall is more formidable than we expected.”_

There it was again. Saying something without actually saying it. Glynda squinted down at the screen, frustrated that Ozpin of all people was doing this to her.

“Even if she can control Grimm,” Glynda wrote. Never eloquent, Glynda found it difficult to muster the words that could convince him. “I can catch her.”

A beat later, her Scroll buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t Oz. Glynda inclined her head, frowning as soon as she saw the screen. A new number had appeared on her Scroll, the source obscured by a bolded **UNKNOWN**.

No one knew this number save Oz and now Winter. She frowned harder, narrowing her eyes.

Squinting down at the screen, she opened the message—and found herself even more confused by its contents than its sudden appearance.

A string of numbers followed by what looked like a date and time. Before Glynda could try to make heads or tails of it, another text from the same source popped up on her screen.

_“Come and catch me, then.”_

Glynda stared for a long moment before something clicked into place, the scent of sulfur like a ghost in the air.

Cinder.

Her thumbs were frozen over the keyboard, unsure what, if anything, to reply. How had she gotten this number? And more importantly, why did her message sound like she knew the exact conversation Glynda and Oz had been having?

A cold possibility pierced Glynda’s chest, the warmth of an angry flush following in its wake. Did she know what Glynda had been sending others? A new voracity flared to life in Glynda, her fingers tightening around her Scroll so hard she barely noticed when it buzzed to alert her that Oz had responded.

Turning her attention back to Cinder’s first message, she sought meaning in the numbers—and then realized exactly what they were.

Grid coordinates.

Now she sensed a trap, Oz’s cryptic concerns about Cinder jumping to the fore of her mind. Like an animal rising from a long hibernation, her pulse thrummed in the anticipation of action. She’d just begun trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Cinder—thinking about their next encounter hadn’t even occurred to her yet.

Yet here she was, being offered bait which smelled distinctly of arsenic. Glynda grit her teeth.

Ozpin’s name flashed on her screen insistently, but Glynda dismissed the notification with a rapid flick—and then froze. Did it really only take a text from Cinder and the possibility that she’d been monitoring Glynda to make her charge back into the fray?

Slowly, with the utmost care, Glynda returned to Oz’s message. It said: _“For now, continue as you see fit, but please keep me updated. I want to know if things become too dangerous.”_

That sounded like he would be withdrawing her if his definition of _too dangerous_ was met. And he was trusting her to be honest with him, as she always was.

Glynda huffed. She didn’t want to be called home like a child. At this point, if anyone would be able to stop Cinder Fall, it was going to be Glynda, regardless of how many new tricks Cinder had waiting up her sleeve.

The Grimm were disconcerting, but as backwards as it was, Glynda was almost more disturbed by the prospect Cinder was spying on her. Grimm could be killed. Having to choose between going in completely alone and being paranoid that Cinder was privy to all her messages was not a position Glynda wanted to be in.

_She shouldn’t be able to do that,_ Glynda thought, wracking her brain. _How could she have accessed my Scroll?_

Cinder hadn’t stolen her Scroll. Glynda was certain of that. The only other option aside from tampering with her device was to infiltrate the network—

The attack on the CCT.

Glynda almost face-palmed at how obvious it was. She’d told Oz and Ironwood that nothing had been taken, but she’d only observed the physical state of the tower. The network it channeled...

For a moment, Glynda considered not telling Oz. This was another layer of danger, not to mention the peculiar interest Cinder seemed to have taken in Glynda. But in the end, Glynda couldn’t bring herself to lie to Oz, even by omission. He’d been her best friend for decades—in truth, her only friend—and she owed it to him to be honest.

She just hoped this wouldn’t spook him enough to call her home.

Reluctantly, she typed out, “I need you to look into something for me. The damage to the CCT was repaired, right?”

_“The damage to the system, yes. The tower won’t be rebuilt for some time. What’s this about?”_

“I think Cinder Fall has this number. And can see the transmissions going in and out of my Scroll. I’d like to find out how—and if her transmissions could be tracked. Could you put someone on this? Urgently?”

_“I’ll do so immediately. Your Scroll is still working?”_

“She’s just sent me something. My Scroll is working fine, but I think it’s safe to assume she knows what we’re discussing.”

_“What did she send you?”_

“An invitation.”


	8. Forgotten savages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality / Kissing death and losing my breath

The sun wore on, hot and unrelenting in the cloudless sky above Glynda’s head. She slumped back against uncomfortably warm stone, trying to tuck her feet back into the shade. This was the third time she’d had to readjust, and with the sun directly overhead, her little sanctuary was almost nonexistent.

These were not the coordinates Cinder had sent her. But she was close, no more than an hour by foot.

Glynda had left before dawn. Travel was easiest when the sun was below the horizon, and now that Glynda wasn’t hurrying to keep the pressure on Cinder, she could afford that luxury.

As the first fingers of dawn began to paint the sky in golden pink hues, Glynda found enough rubble to shelter in. It might have been a small settlement at some point, but all that remained of it now was crumbling stone walls emerging from the sands. Glynda sheltered in what might have been a watch tower once. The walls were scarred black with soot and the ceiling had caved long ago.

Even so, it would offer shade throughout the day while Glynda waited for nightfall. And, Glynda knew, looking out over the waves of heat rising up off the sands, it gave her a better chance to rest up and prepare.

It was a good situation, logically speaking. Glynda would rest here, conserving her strength through the brutal midday heat. She had water and food from the last town, some of which she’d already dipped into. And because she wasn’t due to meet Cinder until after sunset, she could wait out the sun entirely, arriving in near peak condition and prepared for whatever Cinder had in store for her.

That was—if the Grimm kept their distance.

They dogged her from a distance, a constant prickle of alertness at the edges of her awareness. She’d watched what she thought was their shadows for the better part of the day, but like before, they didn’t approach. This time, Glynda had to wonder whether it was truly an instinct for survival that kept them at bay.

Cinder’s smile flashed through Glynda’s mind, and she shifted against the stone wall, reaching for her Scroll.

Nothing. No messages. No updates.

With a huff, she returned it to her lap, running over their last showdown once more. Though she tried, the only thing she could glean from her memories was the bloody lines which had seemed to burn with life when Cinder had sent away the Grimm. They looked like tattoos, she thought. Perhaps they were Dust-born. But though Glynda had seen many strange things, she had never seen Dust modifications like those, and certainly none which could do what Cinder’s had done.

More than ever, she wished for Ozpin’s counsel, but since receiving Cinder’s message, Glynda had been too unnerved to send him anything else—not when she knew Cinder might be privy to any information they shared. Ozpin would no doubt be trying to workshop a solution, but until then, Glynda was on her own, utterly alone.

The sun continued its steady path overhead, and Glynda had to pull her feet in again. The Grimm swarmed, biting insects with snapping mandibles, their chitinous exoskeletons all scraping against one another with their constant, eager writhings. There were dozens of them, if not more, and they knew of her presence as she knew of theirs—each predators stalking the other.

Glynda frowned. Even though she’d decided to change tactics, it seemed all too easy for her to slip back into that instinctual hunter’s state. It was easier. Waiting was simply waiting. There were no puzzles to solve. Only her prey, temporarily out of reach. It was like staving off the constant lap of the sea, the riptide beneath the surface threatening to pull her back into her old ways.

It was tempting, especially with prey so close. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see them without looking.

Dark, all of them. Dark and endless. Timeless. Grimm existed as far back in human history as there were records for, the shadow that haunted mankind from the cradle to the grave. They were vacant creatures, constructs of hunger. Unfeeling, driven by base instincts to hunt and kill.

The perfect predators—save only that when they hunted by night, the firelight gleam of their eyes gave them away. When Glynda hunted, they didn’t see her until it was too late.

Perhaps it would be better to clear them out now. Too many uncertainties left Glynda with nervous energy in need of an outlet, and she didn’t imagine it would take terribly long. Not to mention, it could deprive Cinder of reinforcements, if that’s truly what the Grimm were.

Glynda weighed them in her mind’s eye. Older beasts, grown fat on the desolation of this place. The kind she’d seen during the attack. Massive Deathstalkers and circling Kondors, not to mention the King Taijitu and whatever else might have joined the troupe. Strange shapes. Strange hungers.

One stranger than the rest.

The ripples of its being reached Glynda with ease, consuming those of the smaller Grimm. It was dangerous. More dangerous by far, even out here among these ancient beasts.

Glynda slipped deeper into the sensation of it, trying to suss it out. She’d never felt a Grimm like this. In her hollow chest, her heart responded, picking up the pace. Its presence was razor blades and ash, heady with death. Deeper still, following the reverberations of its being. Something familiar showed her the way.

The dark surrounded her. And then she saw gold.

Two blazing eyes peered down at her. Glynda shuddered, trying to draw back, but its presence was a tar pit. She could feel its hot breath upon her, smell the grave-rot on its tongue. Fur, matted and wild, was slick against her flesh, and then, the terrifying, unmistakable sensation of vengeful teeth around her.

It wasn’t just consumption. It was desecration. Vile unmaking. The Grimm stripped away her flesh. Tasted of her marrow. Gorged itself on the gristle between her bones and peeled back her ribs to reveal the chasm within. It sucked the soul from her chest in a wash of red and agony that spanned centuries, each running over the raw meat of her like long, black claws—

Glynda bolted to her feet, her Aura surging, her crop in her hand. Battle raged in her blood, singing for release, but though the darkness closed in around her, her senses didn’t lie: the Grimm hadn’t approached.

She was safe? She was whole.

Panting, Glynda stood very still. Her body felt waterlogged, laden with the weight of a dead sea. Her lungs burned with salt. On the inside of her ribs, she could still feel its tongue. It felt like death itself had caught her in its massive maw, chilling her organs, reaching for the soul at the core of her.

Glynda twisted her fingers in the front of her shirt, making as if to tear out the sensation at the root, and all the while, she stared at the horizon.

And she could feel it staring back. 

Glynda shuddered, and then she stilled. She always felt the Grimm’s attention. Even when she wasn’t hunting. Even in the quiet halls of Beacon. Sometimes she would look out over the Emerald Forest and feel them congregating there, and for half a second, they shared an exchange, an acknowledgement of being kept from one another. To feel the Grimm watching her so closely was nothing new.

But even so, the imprint of the Grimm’s teeth in her flesh was nearly palpable. To be destroyed so thoroughly, so ruthlessly—it sparked an ancient sort of fear in Glynda, one she recognized.

Long before she’d made her first kill as a Huntress in training, the Grimm had terrified her. Haunted her through the day with their constant presence and chased her at night in her dreams. It had been decades since Grimm were the nightmares stalking her sleep, but those old dreams flowed back into her now with startling clarity. In her dreams, she was always devoured. Entirely. Intimately. The Grimm knew her, and she quaked to know it.

Glynda grabbed her chest again. She couldn’t be afraid. She wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t afraid. Fear itself couldn’t touch her, and even as she thought this, she felt it drain away.

Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. Information trickled in, unburdened by emotion. She was in the ruins she’d been in earlier. The sun had barely moved overhead. The Grimm were still too far off to be a threat.

This wasn’t the time for nightmares. How long had she been asleep? Glynda picked up her Scroll. Calmly, she opened it, looking down at the holographic screen. Less than an hour. Not long at all.

Still time to rest.

Only a hint of hesitation lingered in her as she sat once more, but this time she kept her eyes outward, attention never slipping. She watched, and was watched, but neither moved in for the kill. Not yet.

Not yet.

* * *

Once the sun set, Glynda began to move. The heat of the day lingered in the sand beneath her feet, but the air cooled quickly. Out here, there was almost no light pollution, and the stars and fractured moon shined down with new vibrancy, seeming almost larger than usual.

Glynda let their light guide her, feeling a great deal better than she had before, even with the Grimm still stalking her tracks. It was just nerves about her upcoming clash with Cinder that had awakened those old nightmares, she’d decided. Even if Cinder had yet to do it so far, knowing that she could potentially weaponize Grimm in the midst of a fight made Glynda cautious.

After little more than a half hour of travel, Glynda’s Scroll buzzed.

Fear lurched up in her chest, only to be stifled just as quickly. It wasn’t the unknown number from before. Glynda recognized Oz’s contact photo, his radiant smile seemingly all for her.

His message read: _“Your Scroll is safe to use. Call me.”_

He must have made some progress. As soon as she dialed, the call connected. “Oz.”

Ozpin’s voice came through loud and clear: “Glynda. Are you able to talk?”

The sound of his voice took her by surprise after so long without seeing him. Her shoulders relaxed by measures, some small, nearly forgotten warmth filling her chest. “Yes. What have you discovered?”

“A breach in the CCT’s network. It seems Cinder Fall intended far more than just a temporary takedown of our system.”

Glynda’s pace was brisk. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s been able to enter and exit the information systems and devices connected by the CCT at will. And she has—quite frequently over the last six weeks. Your Scroll is only the most recent of those she’s accessed.”

“Can you track her activity?”

“Yes. As of now, the focus has been on destroying the backdoor she’s created and locking her out, but we’ve been examining what traces she’s left behind.”

Finally, a lead. “And?”

A pause. “Are you familiar with the Hill of Roses Massacre?”

Glynda stopped, the name invoking the vague feeling of remembrance. She closed her eyes and searched for the source, tracing her memories as though trying to recall a long abandoned file.

“The war,” she said at last. “It was the triggering event for the Great War.”

Close to three hundred and fifty years ago, at the height of pre-war tensions, the efforts by the kingdoms to cap the anti-monarchy sentiments only inflamed the populaces. When martial law stripped people of their freedoms, protests began, racing across continents like wildfire, two igniting for each extinguished.

Those who gathered at Hunter’s Knoll weren’t exceptional. It was a small protest, and the only thing that marked it at the time was the presence of many Huntsmen and Huntresses of renown. With no more than fifty people, they covered the hill, known for its daffodils, and demanded that they, like the flowers, be allowed to live and grow and flourish, and that the world would be a more colorful place for it.

Like the other protests, enforcers and armed guardians were sent to disperse them. Unlike the others, those at Hunter’s Knoll refused to be dispersed. The Hunters set a perimeter, and their abilities kept the enforcers at a distance for three days.

Then the order came to withdraw altogether.

Enforcers had been gone no more than a half hour when they were told to return. When they did, they found that all which remained of the protesters was cooling corpses. It had been a bloodbath. Their bodies had split apart, almost as though from the inside, and the hill, once yellow from the daffodils, had been dyed as red as roses with blood.

Even if no one could explain how they’d been killed, there was little doubt who was responsible. For the first time in decades, the world erupted in open conflict. The Great War was waged and won, but to this day, the Hill of Roses Massacre went unexplained, even the most accepted theories unable to account for why the Auras of the victims—especially the Huntsmen and Huntresses—hadn’t saved them.

Ever the professor, Oz hummed and said, “Correct. I see you were paying attention in history class.”

“Well, it was _your_ class, so.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory. She cleared her throat before returning to business. “Anyway, what does Cinder want with that?”

“Therein lies the problem. We really don’t know. From what we can tell so far, Cinder Fall has been digging into top secret databases and extracting massive amounts of information pertaining to the Hill of Roses. As of now, she’s stolen things even _I_ don’t have the clearance to view.”

“I didn’t think those sorts of things existed,” Glynda said. Ozpin’s wisdom was widely recognized. It was why even Ironwood, General of the Atlesian Military, took counsel from him so often; why he was entrusted with Vale’s future defenders.

Ozpin said, “There are things the Mistrali government wants forgotten. And for good reason.”

Glynda frowned. This was the second time in two days she’d been on the receiving end of that tone, and it sat poorly with her. “Oz, if you know something, I need to know. It might be important.”

A pause. “Perhaps.”

Glynda waited. She was accustomed to waiting. She was accustomed to being forced to be patient.

But after more than a month of hunting down Cinder Fall and entangling herself ever deeper in the mystery which surrounded her, Glynda did not want to be made to be patient.

“ _Oz_.”

“The Hill of Roses Massacre was before my time, but… I once knew someone who might have known more. Would that I had thought to ask her.”

“So you don’t know anything?”

“I only have my suspicions, and I don’t know how useful those will be to you, Glynda.”

“Anything would help, Oz.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Glynda. With this meeting on the horizon… I fear I would cloud your judgement.”

Glynda ground her teeth. Something would have been better than nothing. At the moment, her task felt like trying to paint a picture without a canvas, but—she held her tongue. Ozpin was usually right. Ozpin had never misled her before. If he truly thought it was better to keep this to himself for now, then she would trust him.

But that made it no easier to swallow that he might be withholding something from her.

“Alright,” she said after a long exhale. Over the horizon rose the glow of a city, and Glynda honed in on it. “Then I need to be going.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “Be careful, Glynda. Whatever the specifics, Cinder Fall’s interest in this case is dangerous.”

“I will be, sir.”

Hanging up left her with a sour feeling in her stomach. More and more, it felt like Ozpin was talking around her, like he didn’t trust her with something. No, no—maybe it wasn’t a matter of trust. Maybe it was truly for the good of her mission. But to Glynda, who had grown up with Ozpin as her only true friend since her early teens, the idea that he couldn’t tell her something stung more than she would have ever expected.

But if there was one thing Oz was absolutely right about, it was that Glynda needed a clear mind going into this. It only took the realization of how unnecessary her wounded feelings were to banish them entirely.

Glynda turned her attention back to the lights in the distance, but paused before tucking away her Scroll.

Locating Winter Schnee’s number, she typed out a quick message: “Did Ozpin warn you about the hack?”

It took almost no time for her to receive a response.

_“He did. If you’re worried our last conversation was compromised, don’t be. We were on a secure channel, as I said. The only people who know what we’ve talked about are you, myself, and Professor Ozpin.”_

There was some comfort in knowing that. Glynda sent off, “Okay. Thank you.”

She started to walk again, nursing slightly less worry in her gut. Then, she stopped, looking at her Scroll as a realization dawned. She added a second message:

“Not Ironwood?”

_“Would you prefer he be kept up-to-date?”_

“No!” Glynda’s thumb hovered over the send button, firm in her denial. Then she backtracked. “No, I just expected you would be reporting to him.”

It stood to reason. She was his soldier.

For the first time, there was some lag in Winter’s response.

_“Although I would usually be bound to keep him informed, General Ironwood himself has dictated I take all orders from Professor Ozpin in this matter. And Professor Ozpin had informed me that General Ironwood’s involvement is dependent on your discretion. Ergo, it seems to me that General Ironwood has ordered that I keep him out of the loop.”_

Glynda cocked her head, unsure about what she was seeing. As relieving as it was to know Ironwood wasn’t receiving transcripts of her conversations, this didn’t make much sense. In their first interaction, Glynda hadn’t specified, which would have meant Winter would have needed to assume—

Suspicion crept up Glynda’s spine vertebrae by vertebrae. Oz had chosen Winter specifically for Glynda. Gradually, a smile tugged at Glynda’s lips, even despite her misgivings from just a minute ago.

“You don’t seem to mind,” Glynda typed.

 _“I’m only following orders.”_ Written with the same implication as a wink. _“Now, is there anything else I can help you with, Professor?”_

“No, that’s all. Thanks.”

Glynda tucked her Scroll away feeling more at ease than before. A wave of gratitude rolled over her softly. Oz had been right to enlist Winter Schnee in this. Really, she shouldn’t have doubted him. He knew her best, always.

With renewed faith, Glynda turned her attention to the horizon, and the meeting waiting for her there.

* * *

As Glynda closed in on the coordinates, the silhouette of a city—a real city—appeared. She squinted and picked up the pace, almost unable to believe what she saw.

It had impressive defenses, with well-kept walls and parapets and even figures moving atop them. Nothing like the waypoint she’d just come from. Towers reached for the sky behind the safety of those walls, and from their necks tangles of wire descended into the lower reaches of the city like webwork, each adorned with lights or colorful streamers.

Grand gates were open in welcome, guards positioned outside them. When they saw she was human, they waved her through without any trouble.

The minute she stepped through to the city proper, Glynda was struck by the overwhelming hustle and bustle within. Crowds of people flocked the streets, lively and loud, all chattering and moving from place to place. It was enough to give Glynda whiplash, especially after spending the day entirely alone.

She’d never imagined something like this could exist so far into the barren wastes. How had these people prospered, even here? And more importantly, how did Cinder know about them to begin with?

Toeing the edge of the crowds—she never liked them much—Glynda kept her Scroll out and open. The coordinates led deeper within, and Glynda felt her stomach twist in apprehension. Would this city become just another battleground, as so many before had?

As much as she could, Glynda tried to avoid the constant bump of shoulders and too-tight quarters. As large as she was, it was nearly impossible, especially while she was trying to keep an eye out for trouble and navigate.

Soon enough though, Glynda saw her destination over the heads of the crowds. A great lake, black as the night sky and peppered with the reflections of lights strung across it, sat in the center of the city, so vast it could swallow one of the towering buildings around it without so much as a ripple. Not stopping until the dusty toes of her boots touched the water, she marveled at its existence, at once realizing how the city had grown as it had.

From the waterfront, Glynda spied the location Cinder had sent her, its face adorned with a sign that bore only a white, stylized dragon, curled on itself to chase its own tail. The area was well lit, and the people who filled the streets were dressed in colorful, billowing coats to fend off the night’s chill. Glynda had been expecting a back alley or an abandoned warehouse, but this was… Well-populated. Clean. The sort of place she wouldn’t blink twice at if she saw her own students wandering around.

Even so, Glynda couldn’t be too careful. This was Cinder Fall she was meeting, after all.

With that in mind, she stuck to the shadows at the edges of the streets. She moved within them silent as a cat, her eyes flickering between the meeting point and anyone who moved too quickly or spoke too loudly.

Hovering on the edge of a pool of light cast by the drape of one of the many illuminated cables crossing overhead, Glynda considered her options. She could see the location up close now, watched as people entered and exited through dark, tinted glass doors which revealed nothing of what the inside held.

Glynda’s hand drifted to her ear, feeling the notch that Cinder had left from their encounter in Forever Fall Forest. Nerves alive with worry, the motion helped confidence blossom in her, reminding her that she had faced Cinder before and come away victorious.

She still didn’t have much of an idea what waited within, but she had quite a few reservations about using the front door.

Resigned to finding another way in, she darted through the light into the safety of the shadows on the other side and stalked around to the building rear. There, she spotted a second door, opened more frequently than the first as people deposited trash in a nearby dumpster. Their black clothes were detailed in silver and white, that same circling dragon stitched between their shoulder blades.

Others came out just to smoke, but each time the door opened, the sounds of metal and raised voices escaped, drifting out to Glynda’s spot across the street.

She frowned.

Hard to breach unseen, especially since she’d stick out even more once she was inside. Her only chance would be to find an inconspicuous spot with a good vantage of the rest of the building.

But first, she needed to get inside.

As a Huntress who’d been trained in both subtlety and stealth, Glynda had a few ideas.

The next person who stepped outside was thrown roughly aside, the door flung open as Glynda stepped inside, not pausing to make eye contact with anyone. She hurried through the well-lit room which smelled strongly of spices. From the corners of her eyes, she caught sight of reflective tables and knives of all shapes and sizes with fine wooden hilts, but before she could see more, someone within hollered something in her direction. She stole through a doorway lined with dark, bronze chains before she could draw any more attention.

Unlike the first room, the second was large, the ceiling raised into a dome, and the lighting was just dim enough that shadows collected around the pillars along the edges where drapes of blood-red cloth hung. A circular bar filled the center of the room, a brazier rising from its middle to cast the room in warm light.

And the _people._ It was nearly as crowded here as it had been outside, throngs of people filling the room. Many had glasses in their hands, and all wore smiles of every shade.

Glynda froze where she was, somewhere between confused and overwhelmed, people in that same black and silver uniform from before bustling past her through the chains towards the backroom. Music and conversation drifted through the air.

Glynda watched two men order drinks, and something in her head clicked. Clutching her crop and half concealed by the wrinkle of an enormous curtain, Glynda found herself in what could only be a bar.

And then she noticed Cinder.

Her hair was tossed over one shoulder as always, but in place of her usual crimson dress, she wore black tonight. Dark fabric with but a hint of iridescent specks rippled around her ankles, rising up to stretch tight across her hips. It rose all the way to the hollow of her throat and was cut to be sleeveless, though Cinder wore gloves of the same material that rose nearly to her shoulders.

Glynda swallowed. And then she noticed fire-touched gold burning in her direction, black lips quirked up into a smirk.

Cinder was looking right at her. Worse yet, Cinder was slipping off her seat at the bar and gliding through the crowds, taking long, easy strides in her direction.

Glynda stiffened from head to toe. White-knuckled, she gripped her crop without blinking, already knowing what would come next. The fire in the brazier would rise like a snake coaxed from the ashes, the heat growing in the room until it burned just to breathe, and Glynda would have to save herself, wrapped in her Aura as the serpent encircled the room, not satiated until it had gripped its own tail.

But _—_ it didn’t.

Heels clicked over the dark stone floor as Cinder stopped right in front of Glynda, looking up at her from beneath lofty bangs. Gold eyes swept from the crown of Glynda’s head to the crop gripped so tightly in her hand—and then Cinder smiled.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t keep me waiting—though, you could have taken the time to dress for the occasion.”

Glynda didn’t move save to arch a brow.

Cinder clicked her tongue. “Well, now that you’re here, shall we?”

“Shall we…?”

“Glynda,” she chided, rolling her eyes. “Dinner, of course.”


	9. Darkest dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They call me devil / And you should be afraid

Glynda didn’t respond. Her mind chugged. Her brow furrowed. A part of her waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited for Cinder to slam her elbow into her sternum and then laugh at her for her gullibility.

This happened instead: one of the servers noticed them standing there, and with a smile, hurried over to them.

“Is this your date, Ms. Fall?” he asked.

Cinder didn’t look away from Glynda. “Mhm.”

“Excellent! Then, if you’d both follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

What the fuck.

Glynda’s jaw loosened. Her mouth parted. She stared blankly as Cinder turned and fell into step behind the server. Nonplussed, he buzzed towards some unknown destination—their table? Glynda squeezed the grip of her crop. Sweat dotted between her shoulder blades.

Cinder stopped a couple paces away, turning to look over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Glynda?”

“No,” Glynda responded. Cinder arched a brow. Glynda pushed her glasses up, floundering. “I—Yes.”

Glynda’s thoughts ricocheted inside her head like coins left in a dryer. A part of her couldn’t understand what was happening and disengaged. The rest of her, grasping for purchase in all this, reasoned that going with Cinder was better than staying here confused, alone, and utterly displaced.

It earned her an approving hum from Cinder, even if she followed at a distance.

They stuck close to the edges of the crowd and circled towards the rear of the room. Around them, people moved about and mingled as though they had no idea the sort of person so close at hand. The sort of danger Cinder embodied, even at ease as she was.

Glynda, for her part, couldn’t tear her eyes away. The rest of the bar faded as she traced Cinder’s steps, absorbing every minutiae of information. Irrelevant sounds and sights faded from her perception entirely.

The regular glass heels Cinder wore had been traded in for leather, black and creeping up her ankles to disappear beneath the cut of her dress. It was one of the only times she’d seen Cinder in shoes at all.

Higher, Glynda realized the dress itself was backless, revealing the black tattoo she’d seen so often before, perfectly centered between sharp shoulder blades.

At the edges of the dress, red rose in whorls. Where the black tattoo was even, the lines all symmetric, the red were sloping and erratic. Like leylines across her skin, they were beholden to no pattern or image—at least none that Glynda could tell—but the hand which applied them had been sure and steady.

Glynda’s own hands clenched at her sides. She chewed her lip. She felt anything but sure, anything but steady. After six weeks of merciless confrontations where more blows were exchanged than words, this—this was wrong. This wasn’t the battlefield Glynda had expected, but Cinder still held the straight shoulders of a warrior preparing for a bloodmatch.

The contrast of Cinder—too feral—and this bar—too domestic—was giving Glynda headspin.

The server led them towards the landing of a curving staircase, partially obscured by one of the heavy curtains hung between the columns, and Cinder took the first step without reservation. She showed her back without fear. Any other time, Glynda would have taken the opportunity to lift the knives from the high tables positioned around the room and skewer Cinder with them. It would take less than a thought, the metal rising soundlessly to pierce straight through vulnerable flesh—

Cinder stopped midstep, and Glynda froze, her pulse spiking.

Over her shoulder, Cinder said, “Glynda.”

Glynda didn’t speak. It felt as though she’d been caught out, as though Cinder knew exactly what she’d just been thinking. A thought, churning deep in the base survival centers of her brain: maybe Glynda wasn’t the only one who’d become adept at reading her opponent.

“I came here tonight to talk. Don’t you think it’s about time you put that away?” Gold flashed over the crop held tightly at Glynda’s side. Lowering her voice, Cinder added, “If I really wanted blood, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of making reservations.”

“You want me unarmed,” Glynda accused, glad that her voice didn’t stick in her throat.

Black lips quirked, and Cinder lingered a moment more. “Unarmed? As if you could be so helpless.”

Without another glance spared for Glynda, Cinder continued up the stairs after their server, gait like a stalking hunter. If it had been anyone else, those words might have filled her with pride. From Cinder, they only inspired a sort of deep discontent, and somehow, a swell of embarrassment.

Easing her crop into its sheath, she followed dumbly after Cinder, feeling all the time like a lamb to the slaughter.

The second floor of the establishment was quieter. A gentle glow suffused from amber glass fixtures on the wall, casting long shadows. Close-linked brass chains hung from doorways that they passed, and at the tops of the dark crimson wallpaper, stylized dragons curled in stark black.

The server stopped at one doorway, and pulled aside the chains. Cinder disappeared within, and Glynda followed warily, eyeing the server as she went. He smiled politely, oblivious.

The room was small, filled by the circular table and curving sofa within, and it was cast in the same amber glow as the hall. More light pooled in through the glass panes beyond the table, from which it was possible to observe the happenings of the bar below.

A curtain was tucked to one side, and Cinder had fitted herself neatly into the shadow of it, her eyes gleaming gold in a way no human’s should.

What Glynda recognized to be menus were placed neatly on the table atop crisp, white placemats, but Cinder didn’t so much as look at them before saying, “We’ll start with a red wine.”

A murmur of acknowledgement from the server was lost on Glynda, but she did hear the chains swing back into place as he released them and moved away. Cinder eyed her from her bastion of dark cushions, one arm curled over the top of the sofa, the other motioning towards the spot next to her in invitation.

Glynda didn’t budge. She stared hard, waiting for something to fall into place. The _aha!_ moment never came, and finally, she said, quite softly and very flatly, “What is this.”

Cinder smiled—the slow, creeping sort which promised a secret. Nearly coy, she replied, “What? Not a fan of red?”

“No,” Glynda said, and then worked her jaw. “That’s not what I mean.”

“A celebration is in order, Glynda.” Again, she motioned for Glynda to sit, and Glynda observed the black upholstery as though it were a particularly nasty stain on her best blouse. Perhaps noticing, Cinder rolled her eyes and said, “Glynda, _relax_ —or I’m afraid I’ll have to make you.”

There was a mocking lilt on the end of that, but something told Glynda that the threat wasn’t entirely empty.

All of Glynda was primed already. Like open circuits, the current running wild within, she felt ready to move, to dodge, to fight. _Sitting_ jammed in her joints until every bit of her was slow and disconnected, until her body was thick molasses just like her mind.

_What are you celebrating_ broiled in her throat, but when she opened her mouth, it came out as, “That’s my earring.”

Blinking, Glynda realized: yes, she was right, that was her jade earring hanging on a thin chain from Cinder’s neck. She licked her lips, opened her mouth, and then closed it once more, eyes locked on the jewelry.

“That’s—my earring,” she heard herself repeat, distantly.

Cinder, for her part, seemed delighted Glynda had noticed. Touching the pendant more gently than Glynda might have ever thought her capable of, Cinder said, “Yours? You didn’t seem to mind parting with it.”

“But—”

“As much as it compliments your eyes, I’m afraid I’m rather attached to it.” Leaning back amongst the cushions, Cinder lifted the jade piece to her lips in a way Glynda could only imagine to be goading. Through a confused flush of warmth, Glynda stared unblinking, and Cinder smiled, saying, “You are welcome to try to take it back, of course. But let’s get through dinner first. There’s a dish I’d like to split.”

To emphasize her point, Cinder let the necklace drop, settling against the swell of her bust once more, and turned her attention to her menu instead. Glynda watched her, cataloging the curl of those gloved fingers around the menu. The sleek figure she cut and the way the tiny, iridescent shards along the dress reflected a shattering of sparkling light. The piece of jade resting against her sternum, as though it belonged.

Glynda would have spoken, if she could have strung together a single coherent thing to say.

“Ah, here it is,” Cinder said, scooting closer and angling her menu so Glynda could see. The heat of Cinder’s flesh was palpable at this range, and for a moment, Glynda could think of nothing but white-hot pain, broken bones and battered flesh. Then, Cinder’s voice pierced the haze of memories from their past encounters: “This, see? It’s meant to be shared.”

Glynda released a shaky breath. She blinked, sitting very still, and tried to focus on the words on the page. Cinder indicated a dish of lamb and vegetables, served on a bed of rice and drizzled in some sort of sauce.

“Hm.” It was all the agreement she could muster.

Arching a brow, Cinder looked like she was about to comment, but at that moment, the server returned with the wine. He set two glasses before them—seemingly unfazed that the distance between them had evaporated in his absence—and poured them both a share. Cinder offered a word of thanks, and then gave their order.

Once the server had copied it down, he turned to Glynda, as though to see if she had anything to add. She shook her head, mute, and he smiled and was off.

When they were alone again, Cinder lifted her wine glass and turned her smouldering gaze on Glynda. A beat passed as she sampled the vintage. Then, “I expected you to be a bit more talkative. Aren’t you curious?”

_Curious_ was a kind way to put it. _Baffled_ might have been more apt. Still, there were things Glynda didn’t understand, so many now that she could scarcely sift through them to find a place to begin.

Glynda cleared her throat, working out: “The Grimm.”

“Mm.”

“You can control them.” A sedate blink. For all the world, Glynda might have just commented on the weather. Working her jaw, Glynda tried, “I saw you do it. With those—those tattoos.”

She indicated the rogue end of one of those red tattoos, daring just above the cut of Cinder’s long glove. Glancing down as though it were being pointed out to her for the first time, Cinder shrugged and adjusted the end of the glove a little higher on her bicep. “And?”

_“And?”_ Glynda repeated. There was no script for this. Cinder had broken a Law of Semblances which had existed unchallenged since the dawn of Huntresses—and she was treating it like the most pedestrian thing in the world. She looked _bored._ “You—you shouldn’t be able to do that!”

“Considering I saved your life with that ability, I thought you’d be more appreciative.”

For every faltering stance Glynda took, Cinder had the perfect response. Glynda was on the back foot, outmaneuvered by someone who’d clearly been expecting all of this, and it was enough to make her grimace with frustration.

Grappling for some counterpoint, Glynda said, “You sent them after me to make sure I came to this meeting, didn’t you?”

Cinder only tilted her head. “Hm?”

“They were following me on my way here.”

Waving her off, Cinder said, “Ah. Well, they’ve been following you for some time, haven’t they?”

Pressing her lips, Glynda insisted: “You probably made them do that.”

Cinder sighed. “I don’t tug every string, Glynda. The Grimm are driven by their natures too, and it’s in their nature to pursue you. They’ve always hunted you, haven’t they? You should know by now, there’s something about you that’s simply _irresistible_ to Grimm.”

A sharp smile was aimed Glynda’s way, but she only blinked, uncertain. “But—”

Cinder made a sound of annoyance, deep in her throat. “Please, Glynda. I was hoping to get through this dinner without having to talk business. We’re _celebrating.”_

It rattled something in her. This was the second time Cinder had said that, and now even Glynda knew she was waiting for a bite. Pursing her lips, Glynda watched Cinder, who had taken to rolling the piece of jade between her fingertips as though it were the only thing worth her attention.

Finally, Glynda relented. “What are you celebrating?”

Cinder straightened, and Glynda saw that this was what she’d been waiting for.

“It isn’t every day the great Glynda Goodwitch kneels before her adversary, is it?” A pause, allowing for dissent. Glynda said nothing, and Cinder smiled. “When was the last time you met someone who was your equal? Nevermind someone who could beat you.”

“You didn’t beat me,” Glynda replied, voice stronger than it had been all night. The same pride which had driven Ozpin’s remarks at the beginning of all this under her skin pricked at her now. “The sun—and, and—” Not the Grimm. Cinder was right, she'd saved Glynda from the Grimm, not set them on her like dogs. She tasted ash and defeat. “—You couldn’t beat me on your own.”

Cinder clicked her tongue, but she kept Glynda’s gaze. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

“You cheated. You _can’t_ beat me on your own.”

“I was more fair than you know.” It hung in the air between them for a moment longer than it should have, heavy with an implication Glynda didn’t like. Then, as though it had meant nothing at all, Cinder sipped her wine and then offered the glass to Glynda, saying, “You should try this, Glynda. It’s quite good.”

Building apprehension made Glynda want to reach for her weapon. Slowly, she touched the notch in her ear instead, trying to steady herself.

She had matched Cinder Fall before, and now, she was advancing with eyes open. Even if she didn’t understand what she saw, even if she had yet to puzzle out the intrigue, Glynda was ready. Cinder Fall was formidable, was the only person who had ever pushed Glynda like this, but she wasn’t insurmountable.

Gold pierced her through, and steadier now, Glynda accepted the glass, swirling it for a moment but hesitating in lifting it to her lips. Unbidden, her gaze flickered to Cinder, who merely rolled her eyes.

“Really, Glynda? Poison?” she sneered, something like offense simmering in her expression. “After all this?”

Fine. And Cinder herself had just drank from it. It was likely safe, then.

Taking a small swig, Glynda swallowed, much to Cinder’s approval. The taste was what Glynda had come to expect from wines, which was bearable if not particularly pleasant. Instead of searching for something to say about it, she worried herself over what advantage Cinder had been holding back.

Over the rim of the glass, she finally said, “You could have used the Grimm against me all along. When we were fighting, they could have distracted me.”

Cinder smiled, all the confirmation in the world, and she relieved her of the glass, their fingers brushing. “I could have done a lot of things, Glynda... You don’t think it’s strange I’ve been letting you come to me over and over again? No subterfuge? No tricks?”

Glynda remembered what Ozpin had chastened Ironwood with so long ago, about Cinder Fall engaging on terms which suited her. Boldly, she guessed, “You wanted a one on one fight.”

If Cinder knew that it was hasty conjecture, she didn’t let on. Instead, she set aside the glass and folded her fingers together in front of her, resting her cheek atop them. “And you were more than willing to give me one. At the beginning of all this, I had no idea you’d be so…” She paused for thought. Then, a flutter of lashes and: “Accommodating.”

“Why would you want to fight me?” Glynda asked.

_“Beat_ you,” Cinder corrected. “And call it a point of pride.”

“Pride?” Glynda asked, shaking her head with disbelief. “That’s why you’ve been letting me tail you all through Vale and Vacuo?”

“This has been a goal of mine for some time, and you’ve helped me with a question I’ve been needing answered.”

“A question?” Cinder hummed, though she showed no intention of clarifying. It didn’t make sense. All they’d done was clashed; if Cinder was measuring herself, who was she measuring against? Glynda? Why? “Then—then why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance, like the others who’ve hunted you? If all you wanted was to prove you were stronger than me—”

“And spoil the fun?” Cinder cut in.

_“Fun?”_ Glynda repeated, dumbstruck.

“You already knew it wasn’t _mercy_ that saved you.” Cinder said, laughing softly. “What else would it be?”

“I don’t know,” Glynda admitted. She’d run through it in her head constantly since then, but she couldn’t make sense of it no matter how hard she tried. All she kept returning to was: “If it were me in your position, I wouldn’t have made the same choice.”

That sobered Cinder somewhat, but instead of caution or discomfort, she showed only deep understanding, as though she had already tasted of this truth. A small glimmer of amusement showed through as she reached for the glass they shared, tilting it this way and that before drinking deep of it and setting it aside.

Then, with a heavy-lidded look, Cinder found Glynda’s hand between them, the touch so sudden and daring that Glynda flinched. The fabric of those gloves was smooth against Glynda’s flesh, and for all that cruelty had marked every other instance of contact between them, Cinder was surprisingly gentle.

Cinder drew Glynda’s hand toward her, eyes downcast. With her thumb, she traced the heartline, swept back across toward the scars beneath the joints of her fingers, followed the contours until she had mapped the whole of her palm. Glynda watched, every part of her pricked to attention, conscious of each move Cinder made. She was ready for anything, ready for this to finally dissolve into a language she knew better, ready for fists and fire rather than words that seemed to lead nowhere.

What she wasn’t ready for was for Cinder to guide her hand to her own throat and hold it there.

“I’ve seen you,” Cinder murmured, voice dropping in measures, their proximity demanding no more than a whisper. Her voice rumbled against Glynda’s palm. It would take nothing but a thought to squeeze until her windpipe collapsed, but Glynda didn’t move. “You’re as ruthless as me. You don’t see obstacles. You only see me, and now I’m right here... I know what you’re capable of, Glynda Goodwitch. So what’s stopping you?”

Even through the fabric of Cinder’s dress, Glynda could feel the heat of her skin. It was like holding her hand up to a hearth after hours in the cold: almost _too_ warm.

“I—”

What could she say? Until their last confrontation, Glynda’s investment had been towards an end. She wanted Cinder put down. She wanted to prove she could do it.

Now… Now Cinder interested her. She brimmed with things Glynda didn’t understand, commanded powers which had never been seen before, and—and then there was her own interest in Glynda, either as a rival or a plaything—Glynda's jaw clenched—or something inbetween.

With her hand around Cinder’s throat and that golden gaze burning into her, how could she articulate any of that?

As it happened, she didn’t get the chance. The chains of the entryway gave a sound like coins in a purse, and Cinder’s hand fell away, her attention slanting toward the threshold. Glynda dropped her hand at once, returning it swiftly to her lap, and looked up to see the server, returned with their food.

He was frozen at the spot, eyes wide and white. Glynda mirrored the expression back at him, and finally, he coughed, not making strong eye contact with either of them. He set their plate before them and hurried out without so much as a check-in.

Glynda’s face burned, her chest caught in an inferno, and for the first time that night, she turned away from Cinder completely. She made fists in her lap, but the warmth of Cinder’s throat against her palm remained.

Neither spoke. The moment drew long and awkward between them.

A part of Glynda wanted to ask: _how did you know I wouldn’t do it?_

The rest of her balked at revealing such a weakness to the enemy.

It was that which let her compose herself. This wasn’t the time for shame, or confusion, or whatever else was clouding her judgement. Cinder was her enemy. Her mission hadn’t changed. Kill or capture—that she’d changed her mind about which was deserved was irrelevant.

Cold water seemed to wash over her, and it took with it the heat from before. Steady now, she turned to face Cinder. She ought to have done this from the very beginning.

Cinder was occupying herself with something else: the head of a dragon, perched over the door and staring down at the two of them with red, glossy eyes. Almost nervously, her fingers carded through her own dark hair, and there, among the locks, Glynda spotted a glimpse of something white, structured and ridged.

She blinked, filing the information away. “Cinder.”

The sound of her name was enough to startle Cinder back into the present. With a move that might have even been embarrassed, she followed Glynda’s gaze with her fingers, touching the spot in her dark hair. Her brows leapt and then furrowed. Her mouth pinched.

“I didn’t come here just to hear you gloat.” It was easier to ignore the rest of it—whatever it was. “All of this. The CCT, the Grimm, the Hill of Roses Massacre… What are you planning? Why waste your time with me?”

Surprise opened into shock on Cinder’s face like a flower in bloom. On no level had she expected those to be Glynda’s words. Her hand fell away from her hair, and then the grasp of winter caught her, withering all away until nothing of her surprise remained. Her expression closed off, hard and impenetrable.

Very flatly, Cinder repeated, “Hill of Roses Massacre?”

“I know you’ve been researching it.”

For the first time, Cinder hesitated in answering. Where before, she’d been all pleasure and knowing, now she was as cautious as Glynda had been. Things shifted very slowly, as though guided by an unseen hand. Her eyes moved from Glynda to the dragon head to the meal between them, and after a long moment of consideration, she lifted her spoon from the table and leaned forward to try the dish. Glynda didn’t stop her.

“This is good. You should try it,” Cinder said, setting aside her spoon. It seemed to Glynda that she was searching for some sort of reaction. Glynda gave none. Frustrated, she said, “You’re ruining the mood, Glynda.”

Since she’d arrived, Glynda had allowed Cinder to lead her by the nose every step of the way. Now, she was sure. Clarity honed her into something worthy for battle, even on these terms.

“I’m not playing your game anymore.”

“That’s a shame. That, at least, might have ended pleasantly… Fine.” Fangs snapped together around the word. “Do you like fairy tales, Glynda?” When Glynda didn’t respond, Cinder continued on without missing a beat. “I used to love fairytales as a child. My mother knew enough to fill libraries, and she used to recite them from memory for me every night—”

“Cinder—”

_“—However,_ once you've heard enough stories, you start to notice that there are some things which don’t change. You see, Glynda, in any good story, there is always a dragon—” She smiled, but unlike the ones from before, it was joyless, more a baring of teeth than anything else. “—and there is always a witch.”

A pause. Again, Cinder seemed to be waiting for a reaction. Again, Glynda gave none.

“A dragon and a witch,” Cinder continued. “Just like in real life, Glynda Goodwitch.”

It was obvious what Cinder was implying. With a name like hers, it didn’t take much wit to engineer an insult like _witch._ Even as numb as she was, sarcasm bled through Glynda’s tone: “Are you supposed to be the dragon?”

Instead of answer outright, Cinder’s gaze swiveled back to the dragon head peering down at the both of them. “You know, this place has a certain mythos around dragons. In the past, entire cities were wiped out by a single dragon.”

“Dragons haven’t been sighted since the Great War,” Glynda responded.

“Not true,” Cinder corrected, neatly as though she’d been expecting Glynda’s rebuttal from the beginning. “When I was a child, this desert was my home, and I watched a dragon raze a city to the ground. The smoke carried on the wind until it was all I could breathe, and the flames burned long into the night. It was very near here, actually.”

The ruins Glynda had sheltered in returned to her. She recalled the ancient layer of ash over the stone, and then searched farther back. In school, she remembered Ozpin’s lessons about dragons during the Great War. They were Grimm, larger than any other that had ever been seen. Drawn to the suffering of the battlefields, they were powerful enough that not even the armies there could vanquish them, and the threat of their return was more than ample justification for the century and a half of peace since.

If it had been a dragon, burning even stone to ash could have been a simple feat.

Moreover, if Cinder had been there to see it as a child… If this place had really been her home… Well, it explained how easily she navigated the desert, though little else.

“There is always a dragon, and there is always a witch,” Cinder repeated. While Glynda turned this over in her head, impatience got the better of Cinder, and she prompted, “None of this sounds familiar?”

“I don’t waste my time on fairy tales, Cinder.”

“Funny. I was sure he would have told you.”

Glynda frowned, unsure of where this was going, but Cinder didn’t stop to give her a chance to ask. “You never felt different, Glynda? Like there was something about you that no one else seemed to understand? I’m sure you must have stood out among your peers when you were younger. I could tell after our second meeting, and that was before we really even got to know each other.”

Behind her glasses, Glynda’s eyes narrowed. The gears in her head turned. Very calmly, she reasoned through how Cinder might have known that. The pieces fell into place, all neat and tidy—and she immediately felt affronted that Cinder had the gall to think this would get to her. She could have laughed in Cinder’s face.

“You looked through my medical files,” she concluded, very evenly.

Cinder, who had begun to reach for their wine glass again, paused. “Medical files?”

“When you got into Beacon’s system. You would have had access to my diagnosis.” Even without her crop to focus her Semblance, Glynda swept her hand and pushed the glass out of Cinder’s reach, the wine sloshing like a stormy sea. The furrow in Cinder’s brow only grew more pronounced, but Glynda didn't give her time to speak. “Is that what all of this has been about? You called me here to remind me that I'm autistic?”

The words were delivered firmly, calmly, but Cinder’s response was the opposite, sudden upheaval seizing her. Her expression opened in something akin to panic. “Wh—no? What? No! That's not what I—”

“If this is some new game of yours—”

“—no, Glynda, that was _not_ what I was talking about. I didn’t even know that—what I was trying to say is—”

“—trying to make this personal, rooting through my files to psych me out—it's not going to work on me, Cinder. You can't get under my skin with that. ”

“—Glynda, you’re a _Witch_!”

Glynda sat for a moment. Then, “Insulting me is—”

Wincing, Cinder cut her off, “That’s not—that wasn’t an insult! It’s what—it’s who you are!” She drew a sharp breath and then said, “You’re a Witch. Just like the ones from the stories.”

Glynda assessed. Cinder seemed genuinely stressed now, speaking quicker as though trying to bury the last sixty seconds. Glynda’s flash-fire irritation was already ceding to the slow lap of a bottomless sea, but she still felt its prick. Cinder could have pulled anything on her—it didn't matter to Glynda. What irked her was the idea that Cinder thought she could be so easily rattled. If someone rooting through her personal information was all it took to break her, Glynda would hardly be worth the renown she possessed.

And she didn't enjoy being underestimated.

Slowly, she said, “What stories?”

Now there was no coyness to Cinder. Now she answered without reservation: “The first Huntresses. The ones that originally taught humanity to fight Grimm at the dawn of civilization. The ones that established the academies. They were humanity’s protectors and its teachers and its ward against the dark.”

It was difficult to tell in the low light, but if Glynda wasn't mistaken, there was a bright flush of embarrassment coloring Cinder’s cheeks. She was on the backfoot now, trying to regain leverage in the conversation, but the roles had irrevocably reversed. Glynda watched her flounder, a true sense of calm growing in her now that Cinder was the one on the spot.

“They were powerful,” Cinder said. “Frightfully powerful, but—they wanted to keep humanity safe. They fought to that end, built the academies, and—and once they were no longer needed, once humanity could fight for itself and survive, they died out. All save for one soul. The last Witch didn't want to leave humanity all alone with its darkness. She lifted her own soul into the night sky, to always watch over mankind—and—to this day, that soul reincarnates, over and over. That's you. The current generation’s Witch. Glynda Goodwitch.”

For a long moment, Glynda merely considered; then, abruptly, she arrived at her conclusion: “That’s a cute story, and you're welcome to believe it, but I'm not going to stick around if fairy tales are all you have.”

She braced her hands on the table and stood to leave, but Cinder’s shot out quick as a viper, seizing about her wrist. “I'm not done,” she said, and her voice had the dangerous edge of someone who hated losing control.

Standing over her, Glynda maintained eye contact. “I am.”

“No—I genuinely—” Cinder took a deep breath, and the red was draining from her face now, as ire replaced her panicky shame. A colder sort of determination enveloped her. “You're really not interested in what Ozpin has been keeping from you all these years?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don't think he knows?” Cinder asked, dangerously soft. “What you are? _Who_ you are? Being a Witch is a lonesome existence, isn't it? All this time you spent hunting me, and only one person even seemed to notice. Could it be Ozpin is all you have?”

“Are you really this desperate?” Glynda asked.

Cinder flushed hot again, her voice rising. “He’s using you, Glynda! And you make it so easy for him! Ozpin points you at his enemies, and you tear them apart. You’re nothing but a weapon to him! He doesn’t care about you!”

“Cinder.” There was a very real line of threat in Glynda’s tone. “Don’t.”

Did she think she could sway Glynda on Oz? On the one person in Glynda’s life who had always been there for her? Glynda knew Ozpin better than anyone, and hearing all this made her jaw ache, clenched tight.

Cinder only glared in response. “He knows what a Witch can do. He knew the risks in sending you after me.” A pause, like the concept of mercy brushed aside. “You’re a sinkhole. There’s no room in your soul for anything but the hunt, is there? You barely feel at all. That Witch soul of yours—it was designed to void out everything but the prey before you. To be numb to all human emotion. To focus on the hunt and nothing else.”

The tension in Glynda’s jaw didn’t abate, but now it wasn’t from building anger, it was cold recognition, like rigor mortis seeping into her joints. That wasn't something Cinder could have gleaned from any report or file. 

Cinder must have taken Glynda’s silence as confirmation, but her expression was grim, not victorious. “Witches weren’t meant to sustain happiness or sorrow or even exhaustion. They weren’t meant to sustain anything. He sent you out here knowing you’d rush into danger. He knew you wouldn’t care. And that would have killed you.”

_If not for me._ It hung heavy in the air between them, unsaid but unnecessary.

For a moment, for just a single moment, Glynda entertained what Cinder was saying. And then she snatched her hand away from Cinder’s loosening grasp, hurt swallowed before it could truly seize her.

“This is bullshit.” Jabbing an accusing finger at Cinder, Glynda said, “You’re a liar. You’re a criminal!”

“I just watched you do it! I saw it on your face!” Cinder retorted, slapping Glynda's hand away. “You’ve been emptying yourself for weeks, and you wonder why there’s flocks of Grimm following your every step? A hollow soul is the ugliest, most dangerous thing human beings are capable of—the most radiant darkness—how could they resist? You’re a walking Grimm magnet, and you always have been!”

Glynda knew what was coming, even before Cinder said it: “But Ozpin never warned you about that, did he?”

Glynda’s hands fisted at her sides. She ground out: “Shut up.”

The more Cinder said, the more doubt opened in Glynda like a wound; the more it hurt, the more she instinctively closed herself off to the emotion and proved Cinder right. A great void was opening in her, pried apart by doubt and fear and the distant prick of betrayal, and it made her insides feel like dead kindling, ready to ignite.

Cinder’s cruelty was simply fuel added to the pyre.

“There’s all kinds of things I bet he never told you.” Cinder continued. “Did you know he was close to your predecessor? The Witch who came before you—they were inseparable.”

“What? You're lying—”

“I'm not lying! Did you think it was an accident he's lived for two hundred years? Humans don’t live that long, Glynda! Open your eyes! He’s been using Witches for centuries to his own ends!” Glynda could scarcely muster words. More than anything, she wanted Cinder to stop, to shut up, to not threaten the only real friendship she’d ever been able to hold onto— “Ask him yourself! Ask him why he never told you! About Witches, about _her_ —ask him why he's willing to let you destroy yourself without ever even knowing your place in the world!”

It occurred to Glynda, a distant and hollow recognition, that she’d never known there were so many chinks in her armor. That she’d never known there were so many ways she could be hurt. The oversight might just destroy her.

“You don't know anything,” Glynda managed, working out every syllable. Her mouth was all teeth. Her insides were hot. Her soul was a matchbox striking sparks against the kindling of her body. Ozpin’s circular tone played through her thoughts like a terrible, mocking mantra. “This has nothing to do with Oz or—”

Cinder laughed, coldly, but her gaze was positively molten lava. “You're not his friend, Glynda—you're a tool he can use, just a _replacement_ for—”

It ignited. An inferno flash-fire in her soul, her insides, her brain, all reason sacrificed on the pyre. Glynda slammed past the table, and she was only distantly aware of the crash as it collided with the wall, plates and glasses smashing. She was on Cinder before she knew it, all pretense of calm forgotten.

All she wanted to do was wipe that smile off Cinder’s face, to prove her wrong in blood and bruises. It flourished like poison flowers in bloom, swallowing everything save for the single-minded desire to do harm.

It took Cinder a few moments to truly process that she had been hit. Glynda's fist clashed against her Aura, saving her from an ugly bruise, but the impact knocked her head back and for a moment she looked positively stunned.

And then she relaxed into what she knew.

Glynda hunched over Cinder in the booth seat, her knees planted—and then Cinder repaid her, sending her tumbling back, crashing into the floor where the table had once been. Fire danced before her eyes, singeing Glynda’s shield, but her soul refused to be scorched, refused to be silent, screaming across her skin like a warning.

She scrambled back up and saw Cinder—they were still so close, in the cramped space of the room, and the heat was nigh unbearable. Cinder’s palms cradled fire, and it licked up along her arms—her gloves, Glynda realized, were on fire.

When they fell away, burnt and ruined, she could see Cinder’s bare arms for the first time. The red lines drawn across her skin sloped down the entire length of her arms, circling her elbows, carved into her wrists. They ended right at her hands, ensuring any long-sleeved garment would hide them. Every covered inch of her was filled like a canvas, like abstract art.

Glynda was punished for the time she took to look—Cinder lunged for her, hands wreathed in flame, not a care in the world for her bare arms or their surroundings. Glynda took a blow to the head that rang in her ears, but in exchange she seized both of Cinder’s wrists—held her firmly—planted a foot in her abdomen and rolled with the momentum, kicking her hard into the window pane.

Cinder crashed right through it. A million shards of glass rained down on the bar below, and Cinder twisted in midair, her face a grimace of wrath and hunger. Flames poured from her feet to right herself, and she landed heavily in a chorus of gasps and screams—but she landed safely.

Glynda finally drew her crop, leaning through the broken window, staring down through Cinder and contemplating her options for pursuit.

Security was swarming by now, and Cinder looked around like a lion being assaulted by bees. Chaos was gripping the bar at the sight of her flames, at their Auras swelling to spark against one another, even at this distance. People knew now: bloodshed was in the air.

“Fine,” Cinder snarled, glare snapping back to Glynda. Prickles of alarm raced over the nape of Glynda’s neck. “We’re finished here anyway.”

And with that, she fled, blowing away anyone who thought to stop her.

Glynda could give chase. She could hunt Cinder down.

But she felt frozen. Numb, yes, but something was eating at her.

At her back, security was already storming up the stairs, ready to put a stop to the fight—and Glynda stayed, lifted her hands to show she meant no harm, and contemplated Cinder’s words.

_Ask him,_ she had said. She had sounded confident. Her words about the soul’s void, about its functions and abilities, rang true. Her eyes had burned with it, with how much she believed, with how much she wanted to get through to Glynda.

And Glynda could not dispel the fear that she had been telling the truth.


	10. True identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many names, many faces, many games / But only one true identity

Unspent violence poured from Cinder’s fingertips, the interior of her hotel room sweating from the heat the instant the door slammed behind her. She didn’t bother with the lights. As soon as she was alone, she snarled and reached for anything to break. 

She cracked the sitting chair by the door against the floor and moved onto the desk, shoving it and swiping the little paper weights and hotel cards to scatter on the plush carpet. The standing lamp shattered when she bashed it against the wall, and she tore the jade pendant from her neck and flung it into the darkness.

If Glynda had been there, they would have have levelled the hotel. If Glynda had been there, Cinder would have snarled right in her face, blood singing for a resolution.

Fun. It was supposed to have been  _ fun. _

Even with the restaurant far behind her, the echo of Glynda’s furious stare remained like glass slivers in her throat, her lungs, her heart. They infected the blood and ravaged her from the inside. Where they pricked, they lingered, fever-hot and festering with pus until the whole of her was sick with the memory of those eyes.

Cinder was a ruin, her pride carved and served like slabs of meat. Bruises would have been kinder. Humiliation gutted her, stripping her all the way to her marrow. 

After all of her preparations, all of her careful construction… Cinder was perfect until she wasn’t, and it was Glynda’s fault for poking and prodding until something came loose, for tugging at the single errant thread and unraveling the whole of her.

She had never looked at Glynda’s files. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. And if Glynda had just let them both play their parts instead of ruining everything—

With no one to turn on but the decor, Cinder advanced on the bed with flames belching up her arms—but froze at a flicker of movement in her peripherals. 

A mirror hung on the wall, catching the moonlight filtering through the balcony doors on the other side of the room. There, silhouetted against the pale glow, Cinder saw herself as though through a heavy lens, the edges vague and disorienting, her shoulders heaving from exertion. 

Smoke hissed through her teeth. In her hands, the fire died sputtering, leaving the room steeped in darkness. It didn’t matter. The night concealed nothing from her eyes, gleaming like polished gold.

Movements spring-coil tight, Cinder approached the mirror and touched its silvered face with black-tipped claws, unblinking as she tried to understand the person staring back at her. 

In the midst of the hunt, she’d been forced to shed her human affects, giving all just for the chance of keeping up with Glynda. Even with cosmetics and the freshness of a recent shower, the result of the last six weeks wore across her body like a whetstone. She was as keen as she’d ever been, shaped like a razor edge of obsidian. Lean muscle corded her arms, the red whorls like slashes of blood down the length of them. Her hands stayed curled at her sides like claws, always ready. In her eyes, there was a subtle, endless hunger. 

She was iron barbs beneath the nail bed, glowing coals underfoot, the singular capacity to do harm. She was a beast, armed with fang and claw and a deep, dark void where her compassion should have laid, and she was dressed for  _ dinner. _

A distant part of her mind couldn’t parse the incongruity there, and she scarcely recognized the reflection as her own.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t who she was, this strange facsimile of herself. The glass shards rotting her from the inside pulsed in tandem as if to proclaim:  _ Glynda knew! Glynda saw through you from the very beginning!  _

She’d wanted to be cunning. She’d wanted to be striking. She’d wanted so, so badly to a nightmare wrapped in the softest sable, a siren’s song from the drowned depths,  _ irresistible,  _ but—the person before her was a stillborn lie, doomed from the moment Cinder had concocted her.

Her soft jawline twitched with tension, thoughts circling like buzzards over a kill. Every inch of her had betrayed it, from the balls of her feet to the crown of her head—she almost laughed, she felt so wretched—and, and! The final touch on her mastercraft disaster: the four sawed-off horn stumps which grew among her silver-streaked hair. 

Cinder twisted her head, intent upon her own reflection, and confirmed: when she turned just so, the blunt tips disturbed her hairline. She bit her lower lip, cursing herself for her own carelessness. 

Wrapped up in the thrill of the chase, she’d let them grow too long. She’d lost track of time since she’d last dealt with them. 

And she was certain Glynda had seen.

It should have been the simplest part of the lie to sell—she’d taken care to keep her horns low and stunted all her life, but now, on the cusp of something so important, she’d let herself get distracted? She’d been too busy having  _ fun? _

If Cinder couldn’t even control such a little thing, it was no wonder things had ended as they had. 

Just the memory burned at her. She’d wanted to win over Glynda with this dinner, sprinkle intrigue between them to sow the seeds of doubt between her and Ozpin. Instead, in utter desperation to stop Glynda from walking out, she’d thrown everything she had at her, and in retaliation, Glynda had thrown  _ her _ through a window. 

It had been a very long time since Cinder had felt this foolish. 

Wretchedly, she wondered: did Glynda even respect her now? 

Glynda was a Witch, born with power in her blood that had gone unchallenged for most of history. She inspired esteem with the same ruthlessness that she inspired fear, even in Cinder. That it might be mutual, that Glynda might regard her in turn… 

Cinder balled her hands into fists. Without her notice, the hope had grown like weeds within her ribcage, and Glynda’s dismissal, the way she’d looked at Cinder in the end… It was as though Glynda herself had reached within her and torn the sentiment out by the roots, leaving her full of holes which drained and drained and drained.

Anger wasn’t exactly what she felt, but it was what she knew, and she leaned into it with such vigor that it was almost the same as if she’d never felt anything else. Even without Aura or Semblance, Cinder shattered the mirror with the blunt side of her fist.

“God.  _ Dammit.”  _

Each word was worked out like bolts caught in a grinder. Aura sapped at the damage on the side of her palm until there was nothing left but the faint, lingering tingle of impact. The glass crunched softly when she pressed her forehead against its cool face. 

Every part of her was hot and hollow. She was sick with loathing.

Closing her eyes, she drew deep, smoky breaths, her lungs the bellows of a terrible forge. When she opened them again, she saw only brilliant gold staring back at her, her reflection doubled in the shattered mirror.

She blinked. Her double did not. 

A pause. Cinder’s breath clouded the mirror’s face with condensation.

There were few places of sanctuary for someone like Cinder. Business was made with Dust in one hand and a blade in the other, and she’d only survived thanks to a keen instinct for danger, cultivated during her tenuous teenage years. The threat of death stalked her often, made her sleep light and poorly no matter where she was, always alert. 

This, she knew like the horrible cinch of a noose around her heart, was not death come knocking. 

Slowly, Cinder stepped away from the mirror, never looking away. The broken glass within her wouldn’t dislodge, driving into muscle and tendon with every move, but panic numbed her. Panic, and a sort of gradual unmaking, each piece of her neatly separated from the rest. Her fingers fell away, her wrists, elbows, and shoulders, each vertebrae of her spine breaking free to settle like links of a heavy chain on the floor. 

This wasn’t destruction, not like the Witch’s Void, which glutted itself on Glynda’s humanity. This was selection. Remaking herself with the parts she needed and setting aside the rest for later. 

Only when she’d set herself to rights, neat and tidy, did she truly behold the creature. 

It was not in the room with her. It had made it no farther than the balcony, looming there like a shadow, dark save for the firelight glow of its eyes. Big enough to block out the moon with only its body, it shifted at the faint rasp of her attention over its being, pale light cutting through black feathers. 

A Kondor roosted there, watching her with singular focus. It would have been able to see just as well as she could, even through the darkness. It would have been able to see this terrible farce.

Again, Cinder’s innards churned with glass.

Cinder turned—conscious of every move—and crossed the room. Sliding the door to the balcony open, the cool night air rushed in to meet her. 

The room she’d reserved was on the highest floor of one of the many spires within the city walls. Webwork cables of light hung below Cinder’s balcony, stretching out to connect with other towers. Through the night sky, shapes flitted like quicksilver. Cinder didn’t stop to count, but experience told her there was an entire troupe here with one purpose: to find her.

While Grimm seemed to have an innate sense of one another, Cinder had to be sought by sight and smell, by following the trail of ash and rot left in her wake. 

Her mouth pinched. How long had they been looking for her?

Up so high, the wind hissed and howled, carrying the night’s chill in its teeth. The Kondor sunk razor sharp claws into the polyglass and steel banister, puncturing it like tacks through paper. Unflappable, its stare pierced her through, but she held its steadily, even as she folded in on herself, red-marked arms crossing over her torso.

Cinder waited for the next break in the wind to speak, gathering her voice and thoughts. She said, “He’s here?”

It made no movement which might have indicated its agreement, but Cinder knew well enough: the Grimm did not seek her out unless there was another hand which bid them. 

A slow lurch gained momentum within her, as though gravity had shifted on an axis and her whole body was off balance in the new state of things, slanting farther and farther with each passing moment. 

Any second now she would fall. 

Any second now. 

Motion sickness roiled in her. When she remained standing, she had no choice but to forge on. 

She expected her voice to warble. She ought to have known herself better. Evenly, quietly, she said what she needed to say: “Fine. I’ll be there soon. I have to gather my things.”

She couldn’t meet Hati like this. 

When the Kondor didn’t move immediately, she squared her shoulders, the sigils of red along her arms flaring with life. “Leave. And take the rest of them with you before someone sees you.”

Nothing more was wasted between them. Spreading its inky wings, the Kondor leapt from the balcony in a gust of wind which tossed Cinder’s hair and disturbed the trail of her dress around her calves. Within moments, the Grimm was disappearing into the night sky with its kin, but she watched its direction for as long as she could make it out. 

Then she turned, sliding the glass door closed behind her. 

Alone in the dark room, Cinder hugged herself tighter, chewing her lower lip. 

What had she been thinking? She’d drawn this out too long already. She’d eschewed the Grimm and the Aura suppressants in order to prove she could beat Glynda on her own. But this—this was more than negligent. This was her treating her destiny like a game, played for pleasure, not stakes. 

This was banking on Glynda’s  _ opinion, _ not just her defeat.

When she had become so invested in Glynda’s approval? When had a desire to be recognized as something inhuman, something ferocious, something black and terrible and capable of keeping up with  _ Glynda Fucking Goodwitch _ turned into  _ this? _

It shouldn’t have mattered to her. What Glynda thought was irrelevant now. Cinder had bested her, and proven herself the Witch-hunter’s daughter after all, answering the question which had burned at her for years. 

She was  _ enough. _

And though nothing had gone to plan, dinner  _ had _ been a success, much as it felt otherwise. Despite the way their parting had felt more visceral—more personal—than any before, Cinder had seen doubt in Glynda. She’d seen the impact of her words like craters in the aftermath of explosions. Like fractures in the moon. 

Unfurling, Cinder took a steady breath. Things were still to plan. Things had not deviated. 

And as long as she didn’t get caught up in her own games, things would progress smoothly, especially now that Hati had found her.

For a moment, her lips quirked, a little resigned, a lot joyless. 

It was uncanny, how good Hati’s timing was. 

Initially, she’d planned to remain in the city longer. Dinner was meant to end more pleasantly, and in the lull that she’d expected to follow, Cinder had made soft, tenuous plans. The spectres of her youth haunted this city, owl-eyed children and fox-eared teens. They’d been a second sort of family, the only kind she’d had within these walls, and she’d wondered what had become of them in the past decades, but…

It was too sentimental, and she wasn’t meant to be a creature of sentiment. 

Once again, Hati had shown up to remind her of this, and now, as ever, she couldn’t ignore his call. Moving through the darkness like a shade, she dashed her misbegotten plans and tried to put dinner out of her mind.

She needed to meet Hati. Moreover before she did, she needed to change and check on the business she’d left to Roman in Vytal, the shipments of goods trickling north. And then, there was the matter of her horns, grown far too long. It would be easy to pick something up to deal with them—her hands clenched—on her way out of the city.

And, and… Her throat went tight. Terrible silence had settled like a canyon between her, Emerald, and Mercury, growing deeper everyday. The longer it stood, the more impossible it felt to bridge it, but... 

She couldn’t. She didn’t have time for that now. She needed focus. She needed clarity.

It was funny that even now, Glynda allowed her none. 

The heel of her leather boot crunched down onto something solid, and Cinder froze. The glass shards in her all shivered, even before she saw it. Something noxious coated her tongue. The ozone tang of vertigo. Bitter resentment. A touch of ugly regret.

Taut as stretched leather, Cinder bent and gathered Glynda’s earring from the carpet. It was cool as water in her hand, the pale moonlight cast across it like a sheen revealing not a single crack. 

Cinder closed her eyes, and prayed:  _ clarity. _

This is what she was meant for. This is what the Witch was meant for. Whatever she thought of Cinder now didn’t change that, not one bit. 

No more games. No more dragging things out. From here on out, every move would be a conquest, the space between them whittled away until all that was left to take was the Witch herself. 

The chain of the necklace bit into Cinder’s palm, and she sucked in a deep breath. The earring was her first claim. The rest of her would soon follow.

Looping the chain around her neck so the chip of jade fell against her breast like a mark of honor, Cinder opened her eyes, a fire blazing behind them. She’d wasted enough time. Hati was waiting. 

Black scorch marks stretched like scars across most of the room, the air hot with burning. Only Cinder’s regular clothes—carefully laundered by the staff while she was out—remained untouched by her outburst. In the dark, the red Dust sewn along its arms and collar glowed faintly, like embers. 

Cinder disrobed with fervor, as though her outfit was an oil slick on her skin, and she donned her usual dress like armor. Then she turned on the dinner dress and boots, bought just for tonight.

Dust pulsed against her flesh, and she turned them to ash, as though it might erase the fact that she’d had them at all. There was only one path forward now, and if she had to burn her way through, she would.

She would go barefoot from this point on, her heels clutched at her side. When she left the hotel room to steal into the night, she promised herself not to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a double update! Keep reading :D


	11. Alligator teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to ever dream / No, I don't want to ever dream  
> Because all it ever leads me to is bad things

Though the moon shone brightly that night, they met in perfect shadow, far from the walls in the ruins of the long-burnt city. Dozens of Grimm had come, flocking to the place, lining the way deeper into the ruins like a stalwart welcoming party. Some had broken away to meet her, to lead her here—now they closed ranks once more, simply watching, their blank stares like glowing steel.

Cinder knew she was close by the feel of the darkness. It slithered here, swarmed around her. Even Cinder, whose eyes were attuned for it, couldn’t see through the pitch, couldn’t make out the beast holding court at the center of the pack until he shifted upon his perch.

Surrounded by the mass of Grimm as he was, his movements sent ripples through them as he straightened to welcome her, staring down from a slanted block of crumbling sandstone.

Massive wings unfolded—black as black could be, a denser darkness against the night—and the Grimm beheld her. Even without his wings, the Manticore would easily have been twice the size of any of the other Grimm, far outstripping them in sheer bulk. Yet, for all his size, Cinder saw him not by the glance of moonlight over his body, but rather the persistence of shadow where the light should have reached. He was a black hole, and he swallowed the moon’s radiance whole.

All save for his eyes—pools of liquid sunlight, bright-hot and endless, points of fire that outshone even the stars above.

Cinder never faltered in her approach. Only when she stood before him, her bare feet sinking into the cooling sand, did she stop. Even as the other Grimm skittered and shifted around him, his forge-fresh stare burned into her and her alone—and she regarded him in turn.

Power and age enveloped the Manticore like a tar pit. The centuries had crashed against him, but they hadn’t killed him. Hadn’t been able to—though they had tried.

The stinger at the end of his tail was missing. The crown of bone around his head, so characteristic of his kind, was broken and gone. Across his face, deep in the bone plate, four gouges like a swipe of claws marked him. Every part of him was a testament to the battles he had survived, and to the enemies who had not.

When he stood, it was with no awareness of his own weight. He moved like a snake: coiling, smooth movements which shouldn’t have been possible for something his size. The effortless grace in each move betrayed power most Grimm would not live to achieve. Once he stood, he had to dip his head low to meet her eye to eye. His canines were the length of her forearm.

They beheld each other, and Cinder wondered, briefly, what he saw when he looked at her.

Then, she cleared her throat and greeted, “Hati.”

Making a low, grating sound in the back of his throat like two boulders rolling over each other, the Manticore closed the distance between them in a single loping step.

Red lines sloped from the corners of his faceplate to beneath his eyes, dripping down along his muzzle and towards his mouth. Like all Grimm, a crimson eye was etched into his brow—though his bore a vicious slash through its middle. One of his horns was nothing but a stump, the broken end yellowed and cracking with age. The other still curved long and bullish from the side of his head, wrapping around to spear the air just behind Cinder’s shoulder.

Dinner flashed through her mind, and guilt lined her tongue and throat like pitch.

Now that they were face to face, could he see her follies writ large across her skin? Or had the Kondor from before somehow communicated the state in which it had found her? What about the Grimm from before, who’d been turned away at her command when the Witch was easy pickings? Had they told him she’d let her go?

Like a child who’d been allowed to lie and lie until at last they’d strangled themself in the web they’d spun, Cinder couldn’t speak. Could only wait on his verdict.

A warm puff of air that carried the distinct scent of fire and ash hit her right in the chest. It reminded her of an ancient hearth, never quite extinguished. Cinder drew a breath, sharp between her teeth, and Hati bowed down and touched his forehead to hers. 

Her shoulders slumped, relief washing over her in a cascade. _Not guilty._

Swallowing thickly, she pulled back to look at him, but Hati made a low sound and bumped their foreheads together once more as if loathe to be apart. It shouldn’t have been so easy, but he simply snorted, and Cinder understood: there was no suspicion or malice in him.

He trusted her entirely.

A part of her shriveled at the knowledge that it was undeserved. The rest of her leaned into the gesture desperately, her hands cupping the ragged tufts of fur behind his jaw as she pressed her forehead to his.

The scant space between them popped and cracked like an sparking flame, warm and effervescent, and this time, Cinder lingered, hugging Hati close.

Swallowing, she ventured, “I didn’t mean to make you wait. I knew you were close, but I…”

Hati disengaged—barely—and the care he took to not hit her with his horn was unbecoming of a beast aged with slaughter. He blinked at her, slow and forgiving, and her stomach bottomed out.

Another pass. She had no choice but to forge on.

“How are things on your end? Did you get everything I sent? The Dust? The steel?” Cinder cleared her throat, but a phantom pressure remained, just shy of choking constriction. If Hati noticed, there was no indication, even to her trained eye.

He nodded, and at the switch to business, he shifted back onto his haunches and sunk onto his belly. Grimm weren’t creatures of comfort, scarce and economical with their bodies. When he angled one paw out to allow for space at the crook of his neck, Cinder knew it could only be an invitation to sit, and she did methodically, tucking her legs beneath her on the sandstone slab, stiff and stricken.

With Hati’s cheek pressing down into her shoulder, Cinder unslung the small bag she’d picked up on her way out of the city and set it in her lap. She didn’t meet his eyes, but continued: “I sent as much of everything as I thought you might need, but I’m no engineer—”

He cut her worry short with a sharp exhale, turned into her hair.

“Alright,” she returned. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure.”

Silence closed around them, save for the subtle movements of the other Grimm. They kept their distance, but their eyes bored into Cinder as she dug through her supplies: her shoes, a quick meal to make up for the one she’d barely tasted, an iron file, and her Scroll.

Recoiling from the accidental brush of her fingers over the file, Cinder carefully picked past it to reach her Scroll, saying, almost as an afterthought, “I spoke with my associate—the one I have overseeing things. He said the transports keep disappearing after they pass through Atlas.”

Hati only stared at her sidelong.

A twinge of a frown tugged at her mouth as she located the Hill of Roses machine schematics, and she laid her Scroll in her lap to let it chug through the data.

“The people manning those ships belong to the White Fang,” she said, finally looking him in the eyes. Hati blinked languidly. Briefly, Cinder recalled the jackal-eared Faunus from weeks ago—Maikoa—and wondered: had he, too, already met his unfortunate end bashed against stone in the far north? She couldn’t say the notion upset her on a personal level, but she still felt a tension pricking at her shoulders. “If they keep disappearing, their leadership—the Fang—isn’t going to be very happy with me.”

Grimm’s faces were all solid bone. They had no expressions. But there was no denying the shift in Hati’s posture: the fur all down his spine bristled wild, and crescent claws flexed into the sandstone below like it was butter. A low growl built in his throat, fangs all bared, black tongue curling back against dagger-sharp fangs.

If she asked for it, he would raze Sienna Khan and her empire to the ground. He would turn Mistral into a smoking wasteland. There would be no difference drawn between the White Fang and civilians. It would be a bloodbath; a perfect, effortless reply to the decades of bad blood between Cinder and the Fang, to the persistent fury which had festered inside her since her teenage years.

Tempting as it was—as it always had been, ever since she’d left the relative safety of the wastes and learned what happened to scraggly-limbed teens with horns and fangs and gleaming eyes—Cinder shook her head and said, “No. Hunters would be called in. It would be messy, and unnecessary. We’re already so close.”

She could see it in him still, even as his hackles lowered in increments. He would do it.

For her, he would do it.

It was second nature for her to seed truth within a veil. And with her innards so tangled and conflicted, candor was near impossible. But for him, she coaxed it from her own recalcitrant tongue.

“You could get hurt.” Then, softer: “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

It was the truth.

It satiated. It settled. In Hati’s eyes, it reflected back at her and snaked around the two of them in a haze of tender knowing: they were in each other’s blood, the stitch-marks of fate red and looping across their flesh. Without each other, they would be lost, but together, the world itself would burn before they did.

Something like peace suffused through her. It lined her ribs and soothed her heart, taking with it the lingering prick of guilt. The cloudy conflicts within her vanished, and for a single moment, Cinder was very sure.

“I can beat her,” she confided. Her chest swelled with the heady wardrum of her heart. Growing from a whisper, her voice steadied: “I can beat the Witch.”

The mere mention of Hati’s age-old enemy inspired a new keenness in him, but his gaze stayed fixed on Cinder. Beneath it, Cinder felt small but warm, like a sprout turning towards the sun.

The sound he made was complicated, mixed of high and low notes. Anyone unaccustomed to parsing Hati’s expressions would be at a loss, but Cinder knew: this was affection. No, even more than that, even more than recognition—it was pride.

A lantern’s glow warmed her, bleeding into the darkness leeching at them both. It was a gentle gold across her skin, and like an answering signal from a distant outpost, Cinder saw a flush of light through the dark fur lining Hati’s throat, as though flames licked at his insides.

For a moment, neither of them moved, fully intent upon each other, soaking in each other’s warmth like twin stars circling one another.

It was the sound of a turning page which fractured the silence between them, and Cinder startled as her Scroll finally finished processing the schematics and projected them into the air in front of her. The sight of them was enough to steal the illumination from her flesh, but she showed no other reaction. Now cast only in the pale blue light of the projection, Hati turned upon the blueprints, rapt.

“Is this okay?” Cinder asked, adjusting the image quality.

Hati didn’t answer. He stared at the blueprint as if transfixed by its lines and shapes, absorbing every detail, no matter how technical or gruesome. He did not blink or move, resembling more than ever a massive statue carved of obsidian and bone.

Where Hati was all stalwart study, Cinder’s stomach still flipped at the sight of the machine: the needle points along its bed, the deathly cage of steel jaws. Ever since she’d first seen it so long ago with Emerald and Mercury, she had done her best to put it out of her mind—but now it was here before her, and she had to look.

From the safety of Hati’s neck, she found it easier—after all this time, he was still her bastion.

She stared it down like he did, but even tucked into his dark fur, the faded white lines still unnerved Cinder. They were all too jagged, too sharp. It seemed like if she were to reach out and touch the projection, the drawing would spring to life and snap closed around her hand like a bear trap.

The machine was constructed of cruelty. Of all the abominable things Cinder had ever done, not even she had made someone suffer in the way that machine was capable of. Cinder had stalked the lowest rungs, lit the highest fires, had fought and stolen and killed for her goals, but this—this was something unfathomable.

This agony would be deeper by far. It would be every sort of hurt. It would be carved into the soul itself—bleeding it of Aura until there was no more to give, until the soul was hollowed out and collapsed inwards like a dying star. Until the body rotted from within and simply ceased to function.

For a regular person, the machine would be able to draw out short bursts of power, the likes of which no Semblance could ever channel. The taxation would eventually destroy the soul so deeply, so thoroughly, as to leave it empty for good.

For a Witch? For—

The Witch’s soul was a tireless engine. It was never truly bereft of Aura. The machine was incapable of killing that soul—but there were terrible things that could be done to a person, even without killing them.

A slippery, dangerous thought crawled through her mind and lodged itself somewhere behind her ear: death would be far kinder for the Witch.

But there was no mercy Cinder could afford—not even that. She needed this, the bottomless reserves of the Witch’s soul. _They_ needed it. And so, Cinder closed her eyes and turned away, if only for the moment. There was still time, she told herself, consoled herself—there was time yet, and besides, she would not have to watch. It would not be by her hand.

Unbidden, her thoughts drifted, carried by the invisible tether that bound her to the Witch. Black lips pursed. It unnerved her that Glynda knew she was researching the Hill of Roses massacre, even if it seemed like she’d yet to discover the machine at the heart of it.

Cinder grit her teeth. An ache was settling in her head, like a pressure had just opened into pain. Another headache. They had become more frequent over the last month, but only rarely did they mount as aggressively as this. She had to calm down, let some tension go, but—

But she thought about Glynda. About their unfinished fight. It had been hours since she left Glynda at the restaurant, but the itch to finish what they’d started was still lodged in her like shrapnel, like the shards of the window pane had clung to her somehow even as she ran.

Part of her still wanted to fight, to taste the bitter metal of Glynda’s bright-violet Aura and see her bruises brighter still. The other part reasoned: with Hati here, with the matter of Cinder’s horns still to be taken care of, it was better if Glynda stayed away a while.

She wished she could keep a closer eye on her. That she could better anticipate Glynda’s next move. Cinder’s mouth slanted, the skin around her eyes pinching.

At the time, surrendering the advantage of Glynda’s Scroll had seemed like a fair bargain, a worthy exchange to draw Glynda out. It hadn’t mattered then, when all the messages had been Ozpin’s growing worry. Now, surely Glynda had switched her Scroll out for a burner, or maybe had already conquered the backdoor Mercury had opened. Cinder was in the dark.

In the dark, aside from one glowing fact: Glynda would not recover from this. She could not.

This was not the end. Cinder knew it as deeply as she knew her own name. Glynda did not have the power to recover from this. Cinder had made sure of that herself; tenderly taking apart the only chain holding her afloat, Cinder had gouged Glynda bloody past repair. Even if she went to Ozpin now—even if he answered—

Even if he answered, Cinder had been telling the truth: Glynda was a Witch, and Ozpin knew, had always known.

If Glynda had been even slightly whole, she would have realized that returning to Beacon and secreting away there would be her best bet. It would be difficult for Cinder to get to her there—she would need Hati, the Grimm, any power she could, to match the defenses Beacon could prepare.

But Glynda was fragile. She was stretched thin. She was in pieces. Cut down and apart, a butchery not in blades but words, and Cinder knew: she wasn’t moving.

She was regrouping, licking her wounds, swirling darkness and bile and blood but in the end nothing but a wounded thing in its death throes. Cinder cast a long gaze in the direction of the city, all her senses on edge, like the weight of a hundred eyes on her.

Glynda Goodwitch would not abandon this hunt. Cinder knew it, had read it from her palms like an open book—Glynda Goodwitch did not know how to stop. If it had been anyone else on Remnant, they might never return, might never pull themselves back into action after today—but Glynda did not have a shred of self-preservation.

Her eyes were empty, hungry, insatiable. She did not know how to stop. The smell in the air was heartblood dark, the same color as the wine they had shared that night.

This wasn’t exactly how Cinder wanted things to go, at the start of all this—but then, dinner had proved it well: her intentions weren’t the only ones that mattered. Glynda refused to be a piece to be moved around at Cinder’s whim. She had a say as well. And Cinder had to respond in kind; had to match her, breath for breath, to keep up, to beat her even so.

Without mercy. Glynda had refused to take mercy.

Cinder frowned, her head throbbing painfully. Whatever happened, she would do what she had to do. She had resolve. She had realized her mistakes. Glynda was her sole focus now. It was writ into her from the start, destiny engraved onto their individual souls.

Finally, Hati’s attention broke, and he looked from the blueprints to her and back again, blinking slowly. Thankful for the excuse to escape her thoughts, Cinder closed her Scroll and slid it back into her bag.

Things were coming to a close now. Her shipments had gone through. With the blueprints, it would be possible to recreate the Hill of Roses machine. The final piece to deliver was—

“The Witch.”

Hati looked into her eyes, a question.

Cinder nodded. “I have it under control.”

Hati nudged her gently with his plated nose, almost bowling her over, and Cinder ran her palm over his cracked faceplate, thinking of the things she still needed to do to make good on that promise. Through the thrum of her mounting headache—and oh, what timing—she centered on her horns, and her mouth tightened.

“Hati, I want to go up in the hillside,” Cinder said. “You know the place. Will you take me?”

The towering Grimm blinked at her and unfurled his wings. Cinder gathered her bag and grabbed on to his shoulder to hoist herself up onto his back, and he gave her a boost with one massive paw as she clambered up to sit right in front of his wings. She could see the broken edges of what had once been his crest clearly from here, splintered bone brittle and porous after years of broken exposure. Cinder tangled her fingers in the oily fur right behind the crest, holding on as Hati stood.

She knew Glynda would eventually follow her. Hati’s help would ensure it took her some time to catch up. And Cinder needed a bit of time.

With a fluid leap, they were in the air, the ground quickly shrinking beneath them. Pressing her face against his neck to shield herself from the wind, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for what was to come, trusting Hati to deliver her safely.

* * *

The flight was short.

Before Cinder knew it, they were there. The telltale shift in Hati’s body which promised descent came too soon. Cinder swallowed past the lump in her throat and sat up.

For a week now, she and Glynda had been nearing one edge of the wastes. It was treacherous this way, all craggy terrain which sloped up at steep angles, surging into sudden mountains. Most found it impossible to escape the desert this way, but Hati made it simple.

The overhang they touched down on was familiar, from the spindly, skeleton-thin trees to the jagged mouth of the cave leading deep into the mountain’s heart. It was a Grimm nest, hollowed out by furious burrowing, and she’d known it since her fragile youth.

It would do.

Cinder slid down from Hati’s back, one hand resting on his flank, and looked out over the horizon. Night had settled now, the hour pushing into morning, but there was still some time until sunrise. Still, the glow of the city she’d left behind simmered low and faint on the edge of her vision.

It reminded her of the night she’d told Glynda about, where a city had been swallowed by ash and smoke, and the dragonfire had burned so long and so bright that it had seemed like the world was on the cusp of a new dawn, the sun held just at bay.

Cinder turned from the sight. She needed to prepare for Glynda’s arrival.

The old nest was cool and empty in the encroaching night, and Cinder stoked her Aura, warding off the chill as she strode into the cave, eyes cutting through the darkness. Warmth enveloped her like a cloak, and Hati rumbled approvingly at the feel of her Aura, sticking close like a shadow.

There was nowhere to sit but the floor. Cinder weighed her options, but no matter what she picked, she knew comfort was an impossibility. Her stomach twisted, but she resolved to finish it quickly.

She knew she was on a timer. Their flight had eased her headache somewhat, but things would get no easier.

She selected a smooth divot worn into the floor well past the mouth of the cave, and padding barefoot across the stone, Cinder knelt and opened her bag.

The metal file was unwieldy in her hands, the weight all wrong, and she looked up at Hati as she drew it from her bag, her mouth pinching. He stared at it, then met her eyes.

Hati did not sit down with her. Hati remained standing, watching her intently as she bobbed the file side to side, if only for a moment’s more reprieve. He was frozen in horrific anticipation, like watching an imminent tragedy and being absolutely helpless to stop it. Like all the tension was mixed with grief and hopeless, futile fear.

It would destroy Hati to watch, she knew—but she also knew that there was nothing she could do to make him leave. She could not counteract the powerful force that bid him to stay by her side.

So he would stay, as he so often did, and they would bear it together.

Cinder reached into her hairline with her free hand, feeling around, finding all four jutting horn stubs—measuring roughly with her fingers how long they had become. Too long; far too long. Soon they would be visible at a glance, rising above her silver-streaked hair.

There was nothing more to do. Experience had taught her that putting it off only made her hands shake. She lifted the file to one of her horns and began.

The merciless grinding of the file against her horn always felt like it wanted to break into her very skull. The sound was like a saw working back and forth, but resonating inside her head, rattling every tooth in her jaw, deafening to her ears.

She worked, silently, through the first keratin tip. Things would get worse from here.

Cinder hit the live bone at the center of the horn, felt her fingers go slick with blood and her head deconstruct into blank white shards of pain. This was an unthinkable kind of self-infliction, a protracted mutilation that had her vision going spotty, and she grit her jaw so hard it went numb.

Aura could heal the blood vessels and raw tissue effortlessly once she was done. But it could not remove the pain in getting there.

Though she couldn’t hear over the sound of it grinding through marrow, she knew her own throat betrayed her from the way Hati flinched at those specific strokes where the file bit deepest, took the most of her with it, scraped the most diligently. It was the worst; it was absolutely harrowing; and still she worked, tirelessly, endlessly, until there was nothing left but a harmless bump.

Only then could her Aura truly help, sealing up the damage and stopping the bleeding. The pain lessened until it was only an echo of itself, like an old bruise which wouldn’t let you forget the the depth of your hurt.

Cinder doubled over, leaning on both hands, bent over the cave floor like she had just finished running a marathon, feeling the blood drying in her hair, seeing her hand and the file slick with it.

That was one.

Three more to go.

She sucked a breath through her teeth. She needed to hurry before the nausea got the better of her.

By the end of it, she was exhausted and delirious, spent to the breaking point. Fragments of bone and flecks of blood covered her hands and the floor below. Despite her Aura soothing away the pain, she was truly, utterly incapacitated by sheer exhaustion. Her half-lidded eyes found Hati, and in the haze of agony he had gathered against her, staring with such compassion, such heartbreak—

Cinder didn't have to say anything. He curled around her as soon as she let the file fall from her hand. The fur across his belly was thick and mildew warm, and she slumped there weakly, feeling his eyes upon her all the while.

“I'll be okay. Thank you.”

Hati whimpered.

“I'm going to sleep for a while,” Cinder said. “Hati, will you stay?”

He curled a little tighter around her.

“Thank you,” she said, curling up a little herself, pulling her legs up and nuzzling into his fur, “Thank you, Hati.”

Hati unfolded his wing and laid it down over her, sheltering her almost like a roof or a blanket. Cinder closed her weary eyes, sinking into sleep like a shallow grave.

While she snatched what hours of sleep she could, the Grimm—even Hati—would undoubtedly feel the constant tug of Glynda’s soul drawing them to her. It was good, then, that Hati was far more loyal to her than he was beholden to his instincts. If he—if any of them were to go after Glynda—it would be a lost battle from the start. The state of her soul was not one to be trifled with. With that dark stain upon her heart tainting the beat of her soul, Glynda would be unstoppable.

Cinder dreamed about it, black fog and bright magic mixing until the air was too hot and damp to breathe. The howls and snarls of animals fighting, human voices indistinguishable from Grimm voices, every one of them a beast of blood. They only knew death, only ever sought death; fangs and claws slicked with blood, magic rending meat and marrow apart, and everywhere that choking, scalding heat, spilled blood like magma, like the core of a planet.

Her headache kicked her awake, a thousand driving knives through her brain like dissonant, ringing tuning forks, and Cinder blinked away hazy stars, clutching at her temple. The dream stuck to the inside of her mouth like ash on her breath. She breathed heavy, but every minute move only intensified the pressure in her head, until she feared she might be split open.

Hati nudged at her, but his fur was bristling, on end like a forest of needles—she looked around, saw that the smaller Grimm had indeed followed her here, and—

They were all alert, ears pricked, hackles raised like Hati’s. They all fixed on the same spot, somewhere beyond the darkness of the cave opening, and though she could barely think, she knew:

She was out of time. The Witch was here.


	12. Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm ill with all that I know / Cause it shows what little I know  
> I want sacred, I want final / And I'm seeking it wherever I go  
> Cause I'm hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow

For a moment, Cinder was indistinguishable from the Grimm in the cavern. She was sharp and tense, jagged like a rusted knife, all of her senses drawn out into the darkness where the Witch lurked. Hati, still curled around her, bristled and growled; the sound trembled inside Cinder’s ribcage. 

A chill had her. Her headache was excruciating. Something had lodged itself in her lungs, deep behind the protective cage of her ribs, and it rasped her insides apart with every breath she drew.

The cave was thick and heavy with hunger. The pack of Grimm was focused. Tense. Their collective appetite was a damp stain on the air itself—shared knowledge that the only thing standing between them and the Witch was time. They lined the cavern like rows of rotted teeth, black and crooked, and Cinder was in the hungry gullet, drenched in bloodlust. 

Cinder’s vision narrowed to pinpricks when she sat up, and for a moment, everything was loose and easy. Then the world began to trickle in. Waves of pain crashed against the inside of her skull. Her horns throbbed. A film covered her like grease. Cinder’s teeth were crawling from her gums in a bid to escape, and she bit down to pin them in place.

This wasn't right. The hangover of the file was sluggish and tender. Cinder touched the scabbed stump of a horn, and that slow, radiating pain rippled into the sharp, pulsing agony she felt. 

These were different pains. Different afflictions. 

Cinder was going to be sick.

“Hati,” she whispered, and blanched around it.

Compared to the other Grimm, Hati seemed to be at least somewhat free of the Witch’s presence. He refused to take his eyes off the blackness beyond the cavern, but he wasn't frozen. He drew close around her, rumbling his concern.

“Something—” The words were roaches wriggling up her throat. “Something’s wrong with me.”

It was worse than the file. Worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Hati looked at her with deep, knowing sympathy, but he could do nothing. 

Desperate, Cinder roused her Aura. The pain lancing through her head reduced her world to nothing but shrapnels of sight and sound, a caliginous sort of hunger filling the spaces between. But pain and hunger were familiar fuel. Her Aura flared like wildfire, and the cold slowly seeped out of her bones. 

The pain did not abate. Her Aura did nothing against it. If anything, it got worse—like a second flood reared back against her in response, determined to pull her under and drown her for good. 

A ripple passed through the Grimm. They were all spikes and bristle, and one eager twitch would send the entire pack to their deaths. Even Hati turned toward the mouth of the cave, teeth bared.

_ Glynda. _

“Don't—” Cinder’s voice fractured. 

The Grimm ignored her—not as much as a single ear flicked her way, and they rose to hunt. 

She had to stop them. Glynda would butcher them. Cinder stood, and vertigo tightened the knots of her innards. The Grimm advanced as one, lean hunters stalking towards their doom. Cinder couldn’t speak over the taste of bile, could barely keep her knees from wobbling. They were going to die. They were going to die, and she was too sick to stop it.

Hati's growl reverberated through the stone, and the Grimm froze. Their heads swiveled. Their eyes blazed with obedience. 

This wasn't the pale shade of power that ran red across Cinder's flesh. This was the real thing. 

Wheezing, Cinder swayed, and Hati was there, hooking his curved horn under her arm. Cinder clung to him feebly, like he was all that kept her from being swallowed by an angry sea. She buried her face in his pelt. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. 

How many times would she need him to save her? How long would she be useless to him?

Hati made a soft sound. His forgiveness was a bitter pill to swallow, and Cinder's thoughts drifted back to Glynda and the time she'd wasted on her. 

Cinder stayed there for as long as she could. Then she forced herself to stand on her own.

She had to do better. She had to deal with the Witch. 

The first few seconds were the worst. Her skull felt split. Her skin crawled. Every inch of her was in open revolt. Rooting herself to the spot, Cinder closed her eyes and allowed herself ten seconds to be sick. When they had passed and she hadn’t vomited, she resolved that she wouldn’t. 

“Stay here,” Cinder grit, once she could. Her whole body shook.

Hati stared at her, unblinking. 

“I mean it.” Talking came no easier; weevils climbed her tonsils. Cinder forced herself to swallow them down and hold Hati’s gaze. A part of her was screaming for him to help her. She said, “You’ve protected me enough.”

Hati’s gaze drifted outside, and Cinder followed it.

“She didn’t come to fight,” Cinder found herself saying. “She just doesn’t have anything else.”

It felt like someone else’s promise coming from her mouth, but she clung to it fiercely once it was in the open air. She couldn't fight the Witch. Not like this. The thought drove itself through her tongue like a needle, pinning it to the roof of her mouth. If she fought Glynda now, she would die, her rotting flesh bursting at the intimation of force. 

It was a good sign that Glynda hadn't engaged. Whatever drive she had to pursue and kill Grimm had been set off-kilter by something. Cinder could only hope she was right about what.

Hati considered what she’d said. Cinder dreamed briefly of gentle collapse. 

Hati exhaled, the spikes of black fur along his back settling slightly. He sat back on his haunches, his wings folding behind him. 

“Just wait,” Cinder told him, banishing thoughts of peace. "I can do this."

Whatever afflicted her, whatever was gouging her insides and salting the wounds—she couldn’t afford to let it stop her now. Her whole life had been leading to this. 

Her first step was a stumble, but the second was surer. Around her, the Grimm watched, as though she were a beacon, just for them. The weight of their gazes was crushing with expectation, none moreso than Hati’s, burning bright between her shoulder blades. 

She couldn’t fall. She couldn’t fail. 

Outside, Glynda lurked just down the incline, more presence than person. Even as a light rain drizzled down on them, Glynda made no move to shield herself. She stared up at Cinder blankly, and it almost knocked Cinder’s knees out when their eyes met. Cinder shuddered, pausing mid-step at a roil of nausea. It didn’t pass. 

Standing very still, she counted to five in her head and forced herself to say: “Well?” 

Glynda didn't say anything for a long time. She didn't startle at the sound of Cinder’s voice; despite the dark, she gave the distinct impression of knowing exactly where Cinder was. 

Finally, Glynda’s jaw unlocked: “He lied to me.”

It sounded like even just talking was straining her, but Cinder had little sympathy left in her. She bit, “What was that? It almost sounded like I didn't deserve to get thrown through a window.”

Glynda blinked. It didn't look like she had much sympathy left either. She said, “You were cruel.”

A taste of salt rose in Cinder’s mouth, lashes like a whip through her brain. “But I was right.”

“Yes.”

Silence fell between them again, save the gentle patter of the drizzle and the thrum of Cinder’s persistent headache. Cinder was under no illusion; Glynda would speak when spoken to, and not otherwise. 

Cinder had seen creatures in pain before—holding themselves so carefully around their hurt—but this wasn’t pain. It wasn’t anything at all. It was a mask pulled over agony, the porcelain smooth and featureless. 

Standing there, Glynda was a blank. A space waiting to be filled. Nascent humanity. 

In the weeks prior, Cinder had seen single-minded determination, a reckless disregard towards pain and exhaustion. Glynda had pursued her without rest, her mind and body honed for the hunt. This was the first time Cinder had ever seen Glynda truly empty, though. It was the first time she had ever seen a Witch so fully entrenched in her own soul.

It should have been the proof of victory. Should have promised that Glynda was truly alone now, an isolated queen pawn, robbed of its means and purpose. Easy pickings.

Instead, Cinder could only think how ugly it was. 

The corner of Cinder’s mouth curled in the beginnings of a sneer. If nothing else, Cinder was absolutely sure now: Glynda wasn’t looking for a fight.

“So. What do you want?” 

There could only be one thing. 

It took longer for Glynda to respond than it had before. She looked to be chewing on it, as if trying to force the words into shape within her own mouth. Eventually, she said, “Witches. Where did you hear about them?”

The snare pulled taut. Cinder smiled wearily to herself, privately in the dark. 

“Come here,” she said. 

There was no reason to obey. But Glynda still came. 

The unnatural stasis of her body broke, and she climbed the incline obediently, no want or waste in her movements. As she approached, the air around them seemed to change; the pressure mounted, as though thousands of leagues of water crushed down upon them. 

Cinder’s mouth was full of salt and seafloor detritus when Glynda halted before her. 

Cinder said, “Ozpin isn't—”

A sensation like a fat, black tongue lathed across her body, and Cinder tasted bile in the back of her throat. Nausea struck her square in the gut, made her legs go weak and tremor-struck, and she staggered back, away from Glynda, bending over herself. She wouldn’t be sick, she’d told herself, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t—

The ground rushed up to meet her as her legs buckled, hands and knees throbbing from the impact. Sweat beaded on her brow. Every vile thing writhed across her flesh, beneath it, within, finding every crevice and burrowing deep until she was certain she would be entirely undone, bursting at the seams. 

Glynda stood over her, impassive, while Cinder shivered on her hands and knees before her, utterly defeated. Glynda was unaffected, while Cinder was at the bottom of the ocean, crushed by all its weight. 

A sickening sort of dissonance lodged in her throat. Only days ago, their positions had been reversed, Cinder glutted on pride and victory. 

Now she couldn’t even stomach shame. 

In the desert, Cinder had stayed her hand because it hadn't been time for Glynda to die. When she looked into Glynda’s eyes now, there was no such calculation within. No plans. No intent. Her body was just an empty, hollow shell built around that damned Witch soul of hers, primed with all humanity’s rot and— 

The realization hit with the force of a tidal wave. Cinder’s voice was a drowner’s gurgle: _ “You.” _

_ The Witch soul. _ That was what was infecting her, somehow, someway, even if she didn’t understand it, she  _ knew— _

A storm billowed black around Cinder, cracking thunder like a warcry, and seconds before Hati’s jaws crushed her ribs to marrow and pulp, Glynda leapt away. The noose of her soul loosened around Cinder, who gasped out relief and inhaled safety. 

Glynda landed some ways away, her body locked in that same, stilted stasis, but Hati stayed with Cinder, snarling over her hunched form. In his eyes, hatred burned supernova bright.

For a moment, it was as though Cinder didn’t even recognize him. This was someone else.  _ Something _ else. A nightmare dredged up from dreams and spilled into this world, bleeding every sort of fear at the edges. 

Shock flared vibrant in Cinder for a moment—but she recognized the cant of Hati’s body. He was a fortress between her and Glynda, muscle and bristle-wild fur poised to endure any attack, no matter the cost. One wing flared wide and intimidating, while the other enveloped Cinder like a cloak, protecting her. 

Down the rocky incline, Glynda touched her crop, but didn’t draw. Her foot slid back in retreat.

_ Retreat. _ Cinder could scarcely believe it. Through all their clashes, Glynda had only retreated once, when she’d been faced with certain death. 

Did she recognize, somehow, that that was what she was facing now? Did her soul recognize his?

Swallowing past the taste of vomit, Cinder reached for Hati, blindly, “Don’t—” 

Glynda could kill him. He’d survived a Witch once, but he’d had his other half then.

“Hati—” She could scarcely hear herself over his deep, angry growl. “Hati, no, we can’t—”

Cinder tried to stand, but her legs only wobbled and failed beneath her. She closed her hands around his horn instead, drawing him down to her chest with what little strength she had. 

_ “Please.” _

Pressed up against her heartbeat, with the sound of her cracked plea, Hati’s growl withdrew into a quaking rumble. He stayed put, looking away from Glynda, his face buried against Cinder’s front—and Cinder, clinging to him like a child for support, stared down at Glynda. 

Cinder realized she’d been right. There was no way Glynda could even see right now, but her hideous soul had an innate sense for Grimm that pointed her like a compass needle in their direction. She looked without seeing, sussing them out with inhuman senses.

Despite her outward calm, Glynda’s soul was in a frenzy. Even Cinder could feel it. Her headache throbbed painfully and her body feverishly cycled between hot flashes and cold sweats. This was what the Witch Soul did—it exerted its pressure on Cinder like a flood pressed against a failing dam. In waves and jitters, Glynda’s soul crashed against her, and it was all Cinder could do to weather the storm. 

And she wasn’t alone.

Hati’s breathing muffled into Cinder’s stomach with the rasp of a snarl. Fire licked at the cage of his teeth. His body was corded steel, every muscle bulging. Carefully, she drew his head up to meet hers, the uneven edge of his broken brow biting into her forehead. He quieted. His eyes were deep pools of sunlight.

Softly, Cinder asked: “Is this… Do you feel this?”

Hati blinked slowly.

“Always?” 

He dipped his head. Cinder’s chest wrenched. 

No apology could suffice here. Cinder hoped a promise would do more: “Soon.”

Hati exhaled and turned his attention back on the Witch, pulling away from Cinder. Cinder held no fear now; Hati would listen to her, and Glynda was more inclined to avoid this fight entirely. Still, the air between them was tense. No doubt Glynda knew she was being sized up like a meal. 

Whether she was awaiting an attack or merely gauging the depth of him in return, Cinder couldn’t tell. 

After a long moment, Hati helped Cinder to her feet and turned away. He gave Cinder one last push with his nose, and she ran her hand over the wide plane of bone over his face, fingers following the deep slashes gouged into it. 

She mumbled, “Stay close.” 

Hati paused for a second and blinked at her, understanding. Then he moved, determined and measured like a glacier. In a storm of feathers and smoke, Hati spread his massive wings and leapt into the darkness, the gust of his passing rolling over Glynda like a gravechill. 

Glynda’s eyes followed him silently. Even blinded by night, her eyes perfectly tracked his flight. Her soul echoed with his answering call: the Witch and the Grimm she was soul-bound to hunt. 

“Glynda.” Cinder called for her, but she didn't respond. Louder this time: “Glynda.”

Glynda snapped out of her reverie, finding Cinder’s direction and fixing on her once more. Her mouth pulled in a peculiar sort of grief. Softly, she said, “I know that Grimm.”

The Witch soul breathed out fear and aching, and Cinder’s body shuddered to receive it.

Grimacing, Cinder said, “Maybe in another life.”

Glynda seemed to barely hear. “I’ve dreamed about it. My entire life.”

Cinder cleared her throat, squinting past the torment of Glynda’s soul. “Come with me,” she said. “I know where to go. There’s someone else who can tell you everything you want to know. If you want your inheritance—” A hungry shade fell over Glynda’s features at the word, “—I can take you to her.”

“Her?” Glynda echoed, clear and single-minded interest bleeding from her every move as she shifted her weight. 

Cinder stood above her in the hillside, staring down the lonely Witch—and she could see the path laid out before them with more clarity than before. Glynda’s soul had not stopped exerting that awful pressure, and Cinder still felt waterlogged and heavy and sick, but she raised her head high. She swallowed back bile, cleared her throat, and said: “My mother.”


	13. Anywhere you want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am desperate, if nothing else / In a holding pattern to find myself  
> I talk in circles, I talk in circles / I watch for signals, for a clue

It was raining. The sky roiled saltpeter grey overhead. There were Grimm nearby. Glynda touched the cracked lens of her glasses and wiped away the fat drop of rain which had splattered against it. It was cool on her fingers. She stopped walking. 

Around her, the land opened with vegetation. A breeze carried the damp scent of pollen. Glynda turned around. A ridge of severe mountains rose behind her. She studied it like an itchy rash.

Another drop hit her glasses. She needed her poncho. It wasn’t in her bag.

She stood very still, trying to remember where it was. 

Her hand rose to her collar. It found waterproof fabric. She was wearing her poncho. The hood was down. She lifted it over her head. 

There were Grimm nearby. The Manticore seared the sky beyond the clouds like a second sun. Smaller Grimm roamed the wilderness. Glynda ought to have been hunting. 

She drew her crop and left the path. The knee-high grass was wet. In seconds, her pant legs were soaked and sticking to her calves. It might have bothered her, if she were the kind of Huntress to be bothered by discomfort.

Seventy meters off the path, her Scroll rang. A noose tightened around her throat. Glynda opened her Scroll. The smooth metal was cracked. She tried to remember when that had happened. The Scroll keep ringing. She looked at the screen. The razor blades in her throat softened to cotton when she found she didn’t recognize the number. 

Glynda answered. She said nothing.

“Glynda. This is the third time today.” 

Something slotted into place in Glynda’s head. _Cinder._ She scanned the horizon. In the distance, she spotted red through the drizzle. 

Glynda started towards her without a second thought. 

“Let me guess—” Cinder’s voice was glacial. Glynda kept walking. “There are Grimm nearby?”

“Yes.”

Cinder made a sound. It was the kind of sound people made when they weren’t having a good time. Glynda didn’t know why not. Cinder always seemed to be having a good time. 

“I need to talk to you,” Glynda said.

Cinder said, “Read the note on your Scroll.”

Glynda stopped. She held her Scroll in front of her. There was a memo notification in the top corner of her Scroll. This was familiar. She opened it. It said: 

_follow cinder_

Nested within the memo was another. Glynda clicked on it. It said: 

_dont hunt grimm_

Another: 

_We’re going to Umbraroot so I can figure out how to fix all the work you’ve ruined. Don’t hunt Grimm. Don’t leave the path. Your soul is fucking disgusting, so follow me at a distance. If you rat me out to Ozpin again_ —on the line, Cinder sucked in a sharp breath— _we’re never going to get there._

Glynda stared at the paragraph.

Cinder said, “Delete that last sentence.”

Glynda did. 

“Did you do it?”

“Yes,” Glynda said. 

“Good.” 

The line went dead. 

Further along the path, Cinder turned around. It looked like she was moving again. Glynda watched for a moment. Her whole body yearned to follow. Before she did, she looked down at her Scroll. A light blinked to alert her of unread messages. 

She added another reminder to the memo. It said: 

_dont tell ozpin anything_

Then:

_dont trust ozpin_

There were Grimm nearby. Glynda turned her eyes from the sky and started after Cinder. 

* * *

It was easy travel. 

The mountains shrunk behind them. Wild flowers bloomed in the fields. The scent of salt drifted on the strong northerly wind. Glynda started to see small towns. There was so much more to look at than there had been in the desert. It was nice. 

Though the rain persisted, they rarely slept outside. Cinder took care to ensure they found places to stay before the dusk was upon them. There were only small towns this far from major cities, but there were always open beds and warm meals. Glynda indulged in both, even if she had to do so separately from Cinder. 

After dinner, warm in her bed, she waited. The waiting gnawed at her. It reminded her of her childhood. Of lying on her back in the permanent residence dormitory of Blackwell School. Waiting. Watching the ceiling. Wondering when Beacon would accept her. If she could skip Signal. Dreaming of the day she would become a Huntress. 

It was the only thing she’d ever known she’d wanted. To be a Huntress just like her mothers. It was the thing she thought she’d been born to do.

“Inheritance,” she whispered to herself, remembering what Cinder had promised her. Then, the name that _he'd_ finally given her after so long: “Vivienne.”

Glynda’s Scroll blinked to remind her of unread messages. She dismissed the notifications and found the number Cinder used to call her. After a moment, she added her to her contacts. 

Then, she texted her. 

_“I need to talk to you.”_

Cinder opened the message. Glynda waited, watching the screen. 

The clock crawled forward minute by minute. Cinder didn’t answer. Cold seeped into Glynda’s chest. 

Glynda turned off her Scroll and rolled over. She dreamed of the Manticore’s teeth. 

* * *

The memo thread grew. Glynda checked it periodically. A light blinked for her unread messages.

The addition said: 

_dont trust winter_

Glynda stared down at the screen for some time. Then she remembered who had appointed Winter. 

* * *

The sky was dotted with clouds, but the sun shone through in the waning hours of the day. The pockets of rainwater along the path and the cool dampness of her own clothes gave Glynda the sense that this was the first time it hadn’t rained in some time. The sunlight wasn’t as intense as it had been in the wastes. 

Today, Glynda was achingly aware of the time. Before, she’d blinked and whole hours would disappear like water through a sieve. She preferred those days. They were faster. Easier. Got her closer to her destination, wherever that was. 

Glynda watched Cinder’s back all day, intent and gaunt, wanting and waiting and whetting her appetite on the word: _inheritance._

She was tired of waiting. Cinder’s promise was the heartbeat in her ears. 

When the walls of a small settlement came into view, Glynda’s Scroll rang. Relief washed over her when she saw it was Cinder.

“Hello?” 

“We’ll meet here tomorrow at sunrise,” Cinder said. She was already at the gate of the settlement. 

“Okay,” Glynda said, despite some skepticism. Cinder was always late. “Could we—”

“I actually have some business to discuss with my friend… The one from the ridge.” Cinder paused. Glynda tasted briney decay. “Can you feel where he is?”

The fear didn’t linger. This was what it meant to be a Witch. “The Manticore?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Glynda answered. “I think.”

“You think?”

“I think,” Glynda repeated. 

“You’re a Witch, Glynda. You should _know.”_ There was a long moment of silence. From the other end of the line, Glynda heard Cinder sigh. “Glynda, by now you _had_ to have noticed that you have an innate sense for Grimm.”

Glynda didn’t respond. 

“You never wondered why you had such success as a Huntress? Even aside from your Aura?”

“I have good instincts.”

“You have infallible instincts. Where is he?”

The Manticore felt close as flame. It raked nails across her neck. She pointed. “That way,” she said into her Scroll. “In the air.”

“Mm. Sunrise tomorrow.”

“Wait—”

The line died.

Glynda watched Cinder leave the shadow of the entryway. She walked in the direction Glynda had indicated. 

Glynda opened her memos and wrote: 

_the manticore is following us_

And then: 

_witches can sense grimm_

_witches built the academies_

_witches attract grimm_

_witches dont feel_

Glynda stared at the last one. She closed her Scroll and set off into the town. 

Showing her Huntress license got her access to the library. A man helped her to a computer. Glynda thanked him and searched for stories about Witches.

There were tens of thousands. The database was filled with fairytales and folklore. Glynda skimmed for something relevant. It was hard to tell what was and what wasn’t. It would be impossible to read all of these.

Something nagged at her. Cinder had said: _there is always a dragon, and there is always a Witch._

Cinder insisted she had seen a dragon. Glynda refined her search.

Only a few thousand results returned. Glynda pushed her glasses up and began to read. 

She found stories about witches who stole children and brewed elixirs. She found stories about witches who crafted swords and sundered seas. She found stories about witches who lifted the moon into the sky and taught kings to read the stars. In every story, the witch helped the hero vanquish the dragon. In every story, the witch and the dragon were enemies.

But none of the witches sounded like her.

Glynda read until the library closed. Her back hurt from hunching towards the screen. Her eyes stung. She rubbed at them beneath her glasses. The librarian stood over her. She got up to leave and went to find somewhere to sleep.

Later, Glynda stared at her Scroll in bed. Her last message to Cinder had gone unanswered. A light blinked in the corner of her Scroll. 

Glynda wrote: _“Please.”_

She was desperate. She had been desperate for a very long time. 

Cinder saw the message. 

Glynda waited. 

A reply came: _“Go to sleep.”_

Her Scroll made a sound like fractured glass against the wall. Glynda watched the ceiling. Barbed wire wrapped around her lungs. She was breathing hard. Inside her was a cold, dead sea. Every part of her withered. Then she felt nothing. 

The Manticore devoured her in her sleep. 

* * *

Glynda arrived at sunrise. It was raining. Cinder was late. She waited. 

Glynda opened her Scroll. It blinked at her. The smooth metal was badly cracked. She tried to remember when that had happened. She checked her memos. Her hands felt cold. Her face was numb.

There were Grimm nearby.

Cinder arrived. She stayed far away from Glynda. 

Cinder walked. Glynda walked. 

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

There were Grimm nearby.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked.

* * *

Glynda walked. Her Scroll rang. It was Cinder. She answered.

“Glynda.” It was quiet. Cinder’s voice was thick with agony. Glynda didn’t see her on the path. She had stopped walking. She was curled on the ground. “You have to stop... You’re going to kill me.”

Glynda didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. 

There was a soft sound on the line. It was weak. 

The Manticore was coming. She turned to face it. It dove beneath the clouds. Glynda drew her crop. She knew its teeth. She knew its flames. She knew its hatred. 

She knew she would not survive.

But she was a Huntress. She was a Witch. She would not go quietly.

The Manticore soared right over her head. Its eyes pierced her through. She felt small. 

Glynda watched it land near Cinder. Heard the impact through her Scroll. Heard the sound of its breath. The Manticore curled around her. Glynda couldn’t see Cinder. Her hand was numb around her crop. She heard Cinder through a heavy veil. She was so far away. Glynda had dropped her Scroll. She picked it up. 

_“Glynda.”_

Someone had taken to Cinder’s throat with sandpaper. 

“We—We’ll talk. Just stop. _Please.”_

_Inheritance._

“Okay,” Glynda said. 

She didn’t know what she had to do. Only that she would. 

* * *

The sky was darkening. Glynda watched her Scroll hungrily. It blinked at her but didn’t ring. The Manticore had taken Cinder away. There was no sign of her against the tree-lined horizon. Glynda didn’t understand why she needed to go. 

She waited. 

She couldn’t wait very long. 

Her Scroll rung. Glynda didn’t bother to check who it was. 

“Cinder?”

“Yes,” Cinder said. She spoke easier now. “My friend is staying close to you. Right now, every Grimm wants to tear you open, and I don’t blame them. He’ll keep them away from you. Don’t attack him.”

Glynda felt the Manticore. It was returning. She quieted her fear until it was nothing.

“Okay,” she said. 

There was a huff on the other end of the line. “I thought you would have calmed down by now.”

“I am calm.”

Cinder continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “You can’t imagine what the last three weeks have been like. I can barely sleep when you’re in the same town, did you know that? It’s like swallowing salt… I feel _pickled,_ and I didn’t even think your soul _could_ affect me—"

“Tell me about Vivienne,” Glynda said.

"You aren't even listening to me!"

"Please."

Cinder scoffed. Then: "Who?"

“The Witch that came before me. The one who was—who knew him."

"Oh." 

The silence dragged. Glynda pressed, "He told me about her. When I called him."

She didn’t remember much of their conversation, but she remembered that name.

“...I haven’t been able to find much information about her. The Great War was a bad time for record keeping, apparently. I know she lived during that time, and that she was close with—with him—but most of my research was on the Witch that came before her. Her predecessor.”

Glynda was quiet.

As if Cinder could read her mind, she said, “I don’t need records to figure out what happened to her. They were both alive. Now he’s here, and she’s not. What other explanation is there?”

“I don’t know,” Glynda said. 

“Close to her, and now you,” Cinder insisted. “It’s too much of a coincidence. I’m just reading what’s there.”

Glynda didn’t answer. She didn’t like thinking about this.

Cinder said, “I know more about the Witch that came before Vivienne. I’ve been able to dig up more on her, and… My mother knew stories about her.”

“What was her name?”

“Bacia.”

“Bacia,” Glynda repeated. The name was sweet on her tongue. She stowed it away next to Vivienne's, in a place where she would never lose them. In a million years, she would never lose them. “Tell me about her.”

“Her story doesn’t end well. Most Witches don’t meet happy ends.”

“I want to hear everything.”

“If you insist.”

There was a chuffing sound. Glynda recognized it as the sound of an Ursa. Cinder murmured something away from the receiver. She must have had Grimm with her again. Maybe she was getting comfortable. It jogged her memory. Glynda looked around. There was nothing around her to lean against. She was just off the path where Cinder had left her, and grass swayed all around her. 

With nothing else to do, she laid down. Above her, the sky winked with stars. The broken moon shimmered pale white. 

Cinder began: “She lived in a time of growing strife. The Kingdoms hadn’t declared war yet, but they were getting close. She was a Huntress then, like you, and she had the same soul in her. It gave her endless an Aura like yours…and the same Void you have.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Witch’s Void.” It was oil and contempt in Cinder’s mouth. “That’s what you’ve been drowning us both in for weeks. I told you your soul wasn’t meant to sustain any emotion. That’s how; it all gets turned to nothing by the Void.”

Glynda touched her chest. It felt cold. 

Cinder continued: “Every Witch has it, but not every Witch uses it the same way. Bacia used hers to lure Grimm in droves. People likened her to a benevolent reaper for the scythe she carried and the way she protected mankind.” A pause. “She was the greatest Huntress of her time—but she made a mistake.

“As she got older, demonstrations tore through the Kingdoms. Citizens of Mantle and Mistral threatened total revolt against their regimes. Their governments clung tighter to control, and Vale and Vacuo began to circle the weakened states like vultures, waiting for things to collapse. 

“Bacia had sworn no allegiance to any Kingdom, but she was a Witch. She served humanity. So when people came begging for her help to prevent a war, she agreed.”

The sky was pitch overhead. The clouds had cleared. A terrifying shape coasted through the air in front of the moon. It was the Manticore. It was circling. The feel of its teeth caressed Glynda’s ribs. She was cold. 

Very even, Glynda said: “You said it was a mistake.”

“It was,” Cinder said softly. Something was different now. “They were desperate and trying to save themselves… You know the story of the Hill of Roses Massacre, don’t you?”

Glynda said nothing. This was why Cinder had been researching it. 

“They used the power of her soul to butcher those people, and the Great War erupted in the aftermath. The process broke her…or maybe the guilt, from knowing what she’d done. There were dozens killed in the massacre, but millions died in the Great War… Imagine the blood on her hands. Anyone would have broken.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Glynda found herself saying.

“Maybe not." It was the tone of someone who didn't care. Who didn't love her. 

“What happened to her?”

“Bacia lost control of the Void within her and disappeared. There aren’t any reports about what happened afterwards… Only that she never returned.”

“There must be something,” Glynda insisted. “That can't be all.”

“I told you this wasn’t a happy story.”

Silence descended between them for a time. The story was over. Cinder had kept her word. She told it to the end, and now, it permeated the whole of Glynda.

There was just one thing left Glynda couldn’t end this without. The thing she'd been desperate to know since finding out about Witches.

“Cinder. Was she like me?”

A beat. “What do you mean?”

Glynda’s pride clawed at her. She had been sure Cinder had already known. Having to say it herself made her innards ache with shame. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind through the grass. There were insects that chirruped and buzzed around her. 

She wanted to know. So, so badly, she wanted to know. 

Glynda said, “Was she alone? Like me?”

There was a long pause. “She had a family, children, but… Yes. She was. Especially at the end.”

Kinship gleamed in Glynda’s chest. She couldn’t quite muster a smile, but breathed deep with relief. 

“Sunrise tomorrow,” Cinder said. 

“Yes,” Glynda said. “Goodnight, Cinder.”

Glynda heard Cinder’s hesitance.

The line went dead.


End file.
